


The Grudge

by Tagsit



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Out of Character, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:50:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 65,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3739630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tagsit/pseuds/Tagsit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Hobbs' life has sucked ever since his first encounter with Justin Taylor. Five years later he's living in a crappy apartment and working an even crappier job and he blames it all on Taylor. Because of Taylor he lost his football scholarship, didn't graduate from college and is estranged from his family and former friends. Now he wants revenge!</p><p>The story starts the night of the bombing of Babylon. . . .</p><p>***** STORY IS NOW COMPLETE! ENJOY! *****</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Alley.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: This story was sort of inspired by the premise of another story posted on Midnight Whispers - "Grudge" by fortuna_phoenix - a very old, unfinished fic originally posted in 2008. I haven't actually read that story, but I did read the story summary and it got me thinking. I purposely didn't read the two chapters posted since I didn't want it to influence my story, but if the author is reading, thanks for the idea. I'm writing this in third person and there will be shifts in POV and flashbacks so I hope it doesn't get too confusing. Unfortunately, that's how the story wanted to be written and who am I to argue with middle of the night literary inspirations. Let me know if you absolutely hate it and I'll try to edit accordingly. And, therefore, without further ado, here goes . . . . TAG
> 
>  
> 
> ****Many Thanks for my new Banner to Marny - the Banner Goddess *****

 

 

The Grudge

By Tagsit

  
  


Chapter 1 - The Alley.

 

He'd been standing in the freezing rain in this alley that smelled like piss for hours now and he was so fucking cold that he thought he might never be fully warm again. All night it had been spitting rain off and on, the temperature hovering just above freezing. The shoulders of his jacket were soaked through and the ice cold water from the puddles in the alley had long ago seeped into his sneakers. About an hour earlier he'd decided that winters in Pittsburgh really sucked, but at this point he would actually be glad if the sleet would finally get it over with and just turn into snow already. God, he was cold.

 

The young man looked at his watch for about the hundredth time in the past hour. By the dim glow from a distant street light he saw that it was just after eight o'clock. Thank God - it was finally almost time. With luck he'd be out of here soon. His mission would be accomplished and he could go back to his dismal but slightly warmer apartment.

 

The tall youth huddled closer to the ragged brick wall, trying to stay under the shallow arch of the doorway where he'd stationed himself. He'd scoped out this place earlier that morning and was fairly happy with the location. From this vantage point he could avoid the worst of the sleet raining down on him and yet still have a pretty decent view of the dance club's entrance on the far side of Liberty Avenue.

 

The huge, two-story tall, blue neon signs proclaiming the club's name - Babylon - shown out unhindered through the hazy, rainy night. The hordes of people that had been flocking through the doors of the club, and who had even lined up around the block despite the rain, had dwindled now. There were only a few stragglers left, all hurrying down the street and flowing through the doors as fast as they could move. He could hear loud music starting now, the bass reverberating through the very walls of the building and pouring out through the doors and down the street.

 

He was fairly certain the blond was still inside. He'd watched the man enter the building along with several of the other organizers of the evening's festivities about six-thirty. He'd been watching the entrance carefully ever since just to make sure that his target hadn't left. This little party just wouldn't be complete without the blond.

 

That was Hobbs' whole purpose for this evening after all - revenge on Justin Taylor.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

It had been almost as cold that night more than four years ago when Chris Hobbs had first visited Liberty Avenue. Back then it had all been just for fun, though. A carefree evening with his buddies and their dates. Shit - his whole life back then had been 'carefree'.

 

He didn't remember whose suggestion it had been to head down to Liberty Avenue that Friday night to check out all the 'freaks'. He didn't really want to go, but everyone else seemed so enthusiastic about the idea and he didn't want to stand out by objecting to the plan. He was the captain of the football team after all - he had an image to uphold. He didn't want to seem like he was afraid of a bunch of queers, right?

 

But inside he WAS afraid. Not of the fags. Hobbs was afraid of himself.

 

It had been months since that 'incident' with Taylor out in the equipment shed, but he still couldn't get the experience out of his mind. What the fuck had he been thinking? He still didn't understand how he could have let things go so far.

 

They'd been working and talking. It was really hot inside that shed that afternoon and both boys had taken off their jackets, unbuttoned their shirts and pulled their ties loose. But they were both hot and sweaty by the time they were through anyway. Taylor had offered to get him a soda, which they shared while they rested. He'd been bragging to Taylor about the chicks he'd been with - the same bullshit he talked about every day with any of the guys, right?

 

But that's when things went very, very wrong. Somehow, he found Taylor's hand down his pants, grabbing and stroking his dick with expert fingers and the next thing he knew, he'd shot his load into Taylor's hand. How the fuck did that happen? It all seemed to happen so fast. He didn't really have a chance to think about the consequences until long after it was all over. Taylor was jumping up, wiping his jizz off on a towel and backing away as soon as the teacher strode into the room to check on their progress. He never even got a chance to say a word to Taylor after that - the blond just escaped as quickly as he could, leaving Hobbs reeling and alone after the unexpected experience.

 

Fine. Whatever. Shit happens, right? But that was months earlier and Hobbs just wanted to move on and forget it. He didn't want to think about it or dream about it or fantasize about it anymore. He wanted to just erase the memory from his brain. Unfortunately, the harder he consciously tried not to think about Taylor, the more persistent and confusing the dreams became. It was getting more than just annoying at this point.

 

And when his buddies suggested they head down to Liberty Avenue, he didn't dare object. He was terrified they'd see through his facade and somehow know his confusion. He was afraid he'd no longer be able to hide. That somehow, they'd know that he was one of those freaks now, too.

 

But he'd gone along with the idea anyway, putting on a bold face and joking along with the rest of the guys. He'd grabbed one of the cheerleader groupies who had tagged along, wrapping his arm around her to bolster his non-existent self-confidence. As they rambled down the street, laughing at all the queens in drag and making fun of the fairies, Hobbs managed to quell his own fears by groping and kissing the nameless cheerleader babe. It seemed like it was going to be okay, too - everyone looked like they were buying his act.

 

Until, that is, that little fucker Taylor had turned up out of the blue and ruined his life completely.

 

Looking back now, he could easily see that that was the moment his life had irrevocably turned to shit. Before then, he'd been happy, respected by his peers, with a promising future ahead of him. But from the moment Taylor had opened his big fucking mouth and spitefully blabbed to the entire world about that goddamned hand job, his life had begun to crumble away. Now, he had lost it all. And, the only thing that was still keeping him going was his desire to finally get his revenge on Taylor.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The street was practically deserted now. The only people in sight were two women hurrying around the far corner of the building. He looked at his watch again and a huge grin spread across his thin lips. Eight-fifteen. It was time. Time for Taylor, Taylor's smug, rich boyfriend and all the rest of the fucking queers down here to get what was coming to them. Time for payback. His life had been ruined by these people, now it was time that they felt a little of the pain, too.

 

He felt the bricks in the building behind him shake for a brief moment before he heard the actual sound of the explosion. The blast itself was short but far louder than he'd expected. All the glass in the windows of every building nearby shattered at the same time as a result of the shockwave that followed. He ducked and tried to shield his face from the flying glass shards as every car alarm within blocks went off simultaneously.

 

When he finally looked up again, there was smoke billowing out through the doors of the building across the street. The eye catching red and black banner advertising 'Stop Prop 14 - Benefit Tonight' that had been hoisted over the doorway had become detached and was now slowly sliding down, drifting and twisting in the gusts of rain. Except for the howling car alarms, though, it was almost peaceful for a few seconds.

 

Then the pandemonium broke out. People began to boil out through the doors of the building, their faces and clothing blackened by smoke. They were wailing, screaming, shouting, crying. From down the street and behind him, other people were now running towards the club to find out the cause of the disturbance, the newcomers blocking the path of the ones trying to get out of the building. He could hear the fire alarms going off from inside the building now as well. The people piling out through the exits huddled in confused groups on the sidewalks around the building, some shouting for missing loved ones and others just silently quaking where they stood in the cold rain.

 

Hobbs stayed where he was, watching the chaos around him unfold with a nasty grin on his face. However, as more and more people exited the building he became a little disappointed. He'd thought the blast and the resulting fire would have been bigger. He saw a lot of smoke but no flames and far too many people were simply walking out of the building looking scared but unharmed. All in all, it was kind of a let down - in his imagination he'd seen towering flames, bodies burnt to cinders and the building reduced to rubble.

 

The fucking Internet - you couldn't trust anything you read there. After all the trouble he'd gone to, stealing the explosives from the construction job site he'd worked at and then preparing the bomb according to the instructions he'd found on the web, and then this pathetic little blast was all he got. It was hardly worth all the effort. Considering how many people were just walking away, he wasn't even sure that he'd got Taylor. So much for the perfect opportunity for revenge.

 

And, so much for finally getting to leave and go back to his dry apartment. Now he'd have to stay and watch some more and see if Taylor was one of the lucky ones walking out alive. He had to know if he'd finally succeeded this time. It would be just his luck if Taylor managed to somehow survive again. Hobbs had failed to stop him before - this time he really hoped Taylor would be gone and out of his life for good.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Most of the emergency lights had failed for some unknown reason so it was dark inside except for the dim glow of a few exit signs and the illumination from a couple areas where there were still small fires burning. Luckily the sprinkler system had worked pretty well, which meant that most of the fires started by the explosion had been quenched almost immediately. That's the only thing that prevented this night from being even more of a disaster than it might have been.

 

Justin had been far enough away from the source of the blast that he hadn't been hurt. He'd only sustained a few cuts from flying debris. He was dazed and frightened, as was everyone else around him. But, instead of stampeding towards the exits with the others, Justin stayed inside to see if there was anyone he could help.

 

He moved towards the far end of the bar - or at least where the end of the bar used to be - where the destruction looked worst. There was an older man bent over another person who was lying on the ground. As Justin neared he could see the figure on the floor was a woman who was sitting up holding onto her right arm in obvious pain. Justin helped the man get the woman onto her feet and supported her as they hobbled together towards a side exit. As soon as he was sure they'd make it out okay, he turned back again to find someone else to help.

 

It wasn't long before emergency personnel - fire fighters and police - began to file inside the building, helping to direct people towards exits, using fire extinguishers on the remaining pockets of flames and running to the rescue of those hurt too badly to leave under their own power. Their flashlights were finally providing some small amount of light - enough so that Justin could now see where he was walking. He'd just found another victim huddled behind a pile of tables that had been blown over, and had led an EMT over to see to the man, when he heard a familiar voice calling his name.

 

Brian. Brian was here and now Justin knew that everything would somehow be alright. The tall, frantic brunet seized onto Justin and pulled him tightly to his chest.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Brian had almost panicked when Jennifer had told him Justin was still inside. The destruction was so horrible - there was a bloody shoe, there he saw a man's body caught in the railing of the collapsed catwalk, and there was another body draped with a white sheet - he immediately imagined the worst. Thankfully, he didn't have to go far before he saw a familiar shock of blond hair, still recognizable even under the soot. Brian yelled, "Justin". The blond pushed aside a sparking electrical wire, sidestepped a pile of debris and ran to his lover's waiting arms.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Most of the people from inside the building had left. There was still a large group of the gawking curious, but the police had corralled them off to the side behind strings of fluorescent yellow 'Police Tape'. The ambulances carrying the wounded had roared off a long time ago, but there were still an inordinate number of emergency vehicles parked all around the building, blocking the view. Even so, Hobbs had stayed, waiting and watching as best he could to see if he could determine what had happened to Taylor.

 

When the fire fighters had started packing up their trucks, preparing to depart, Hobbs thought he'd finally leave. But, before he'd taken five steps away from his doorway perch, he'd caught a glimpse of that fucker Kinney navigating his way through the trucks and groups of police, moving towards the front entry. The man was disheveled but clearly unhurt.

 

"Damn!" Hobbs couldn't help but feel discouraged that the boyfriend had somehow escaped unharmed.

 

Hobbs' hatred for the tall, handsome brunet was almost as great as the enmity that he held for Taylor. It had been Kinney, after all, who had wielded the bat that broke his knee and crushed his hopes of ever playing college, let alone professional, football. But, in his mind, Kinney was just another byproduct of the horrors heaped into his life by Taylor. Taylor was still the primary cause of everything bad, everything wrong with his life. Kinney was just another of the tools the conniving blond had used to ruin him.

 

:::::::::::::::::

 

The guys had pestered him relentlessly for weeks following the disastrous trip to Liberty Avenue. The joking had started off friendly enough but once the word spread beyond his friends and those who'd been with him that night, the jokes turned decidedly mean. Not a day went by without somebody asking Hobbs about his 'boyfriend' - Did he give head too or just hand jobs? Did he ever let Hobbs 'top'? - it was a fucking nightmare.

 

He'd steadfastly maintained that Taylor was a liar. He'd beat the crap out of at least two guys who just wouldn't let up. He'd also instituted an unceasing campaign of harassment aimed at Taylor that should have broken him. But that little fuck just wouldn't back down, no matter what. Taylor refused to take back the accusation about Hobbs, so Hobbs continued to bully him.

 

Initially, the harassment against Taylor was meant mostly as a way to defend Hobbs' reputation. Yeah, he'd always kidded the guy a bit but everybody teased Taylor - he was so open about his lifestyle, it was just too easy. There wasn't really any malice in it though, at least not on Chris' part. But, the longer the jokes went on and the more intransigent Taylor became, the more Hobbs started to truly hate the stubborn blond. Didn't he see how much he was fucking up Chris' life? If he wanted to advertise that he was a faggot, fine, but did Taylor have to taint his life too? After a while, hate was all Chris felt towards the other boy

 

Eventually the joking died down, though, and Hobbs thought his life might be getting back to normal. School was almost out and he'd already been accepted to Arizona State on a partial football scholarship. His plan was to get out of Pittsburgh, away from Taylor and all the unpleasant memories as fast as possible. All he had to do was make it through graduation and then he'd be able to start fresh somewhere far away.

 

But Taylor managed to fuck up that plan the night of Prom.

 

Hobbs had been sitting with his date at a table when Kinney strolled into the room. Chris recognized him right away from that night on Liberty. He watched in utter disbelief as the older man walked right up to Taylor and then, in front of the entire school, began to dance with the gloating blond.

 

The final straw came when Hobbs was standing, watching dumbstruck with the rest of the prom attendees, as the handsome couple twirled gracefully around the dance floor. That's when Paul came up behind him and whispered, "looks like your boyfriend's cheating on you, Hobbs." The comment was accompanied by a nasty chuckle and the sound of the laughter raised the hackles on the back of Hobbs' neck instantly.

 

There was an almost audible snap as it all hit him at once. That's when he knew that it would never end. At least not as long as Taylor was still around. Taylor was going to have to die.

 

::::::::::::::::::::

 

The stocky former athlete was brought out of his revery when he saw a shorter man wearing a paramedic's jacket move up to Kinney. The two men fell into a passionate embrace which ended with a heated kiss. And, even though he was pretty far away and the jacket had thrown him off at first, Hobbs could tell exactly who it was that Kinney was kissing.

 

Taylor. Shit, it was Taylor - the white blond hair was a dead give away. Somehow the little fuck had again evaded his fate.

 

Hobbs stood there watching the two men and quietly seething. He couldn't believe that all this had been for nothing after all. Months of effort, months of planning and Taylor just walked away. Again.

 

It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fucking fair that his life was shit and Taylor was still walking around perfectly fine. Taylor still had a life, a future, a boyfriend. Hobbs had lost all those because of Taylor. Taylor should have to pay. Taylor owed Hobbs a life.

 

The two men stood together, touching, kissing, talking, for quite a long time while emergency personnel and vehicles continued to swarm around them and the still smoldering dance club. All Hobbs could do was stand in the alley and watch in helpless, impotent rage. Every time the men kissed, his anger spiked higher. By the time the two started to move apart, Hobbs felt so enraged that he could barely hold all the emotion inside. His vision seemed clouded by hazy waves of shimmering hate and his ears were ringing. He felt like his body was on autopilot while his mind went into anger-driven overload.

 

As they separated, the two men across the street headed in opposite directions. Kinney moved purposefully towards the building's entrance where he struck up a conversation with another, older man wearing a vest bearing the word 'Police' emblazoned across the back. The younger blond walked off down the street and around the far corner of the building alone. Hobbs automatically followed the retreating form, his feet moving even as his brain was still paralyzed.

 

'He owes me. He should pay. He owes me. He should pay'

 

The words echoed over and over again inside his mind as he followed behind the oblivious blond. His feet just kept walking though, block after block, trailing behind as Taylor headed further away from Liberty Avenue. When Hobbs finally halted long enough to look around him, he noted that they'd moved away from the river and were now in a seedier neighborhood comprised mainly of warehouses and run down old office buildings. There were few street lights here - the surrounding blackness somehow seeming to make the night sky darker and the icy rain colder. They'd long since left the areas of town where there were any other pedestrians around.

 

At long last Taylor approached the rear of a delapidated, dingy red brick building, it's sides covered with the soot and grime of decades and which appeared at first glance to be vacant. Hobbs watched from across the street as the young artist climbed the steps next to a rickety old loading dock area and pulled open an almost hidden side door, disappearing inside. The surrounding streets were deserted.

 

Hobbs hesitated only a moment before following up the loading dock stairs. The little side door wasn't locked so he let himself in and listened intently to the sound of Taylor's footsteps slapping against the risers as he tiredly climbed the stairs. Hobbs followed silently, a new plan forming as he climbed the stairs in the lonely and practically uninhabited building.

 

Yes. Oh, yes. It was definitely time for Taylor to pay for what he'd done.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know there's a nasty cliffhanger. What can I say? I'm evil like that. But don't worry, the second chapter is already written. See you soon. TAG


	2. The Cage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad that so far you all seem to like this new story. Here's a bit more to keep you interested. Enjoy! TAG

 

Chapter 2 - The Cage.

 

Brian yawned and scratched at his side as he stumbled over some debris at the building's entrance. He was exhausted. It was seven am and he'd either been at the hospital waiting on word about Michael or here at the club dealing with the police and fire marshals all night long. He was covered with soot and grime and his designer clothes were ruined - there was a large stain on the knee of his jeans and even a small tear in the elbow of his Hugo Boss leather jacket where it had caught on a jutting wire.

 

There didn't seem to be anything more he could do here at the moment. Ted, efficient as always even in a crisis, was handling the paperwork and insurance issues. The police couldn't tell him anything yet - they were just starting their investigation into the bombing. He knew there wasn't anything he could do at the hospital where Deb and the rest of the family were waiting on word about Mikey. So, he thought it was time to head back to the loft, get cleaned up and try to get a little sleep.

 

As he walked the few blocks away to where he'd had to leave his car earlier, he pulled out his cell phone, thinking briefly about calling Justin to make sure once again that the younger man was okay. Despite his fatigue, he felt a twinge of excitement at the thought of his lover. He could hardly believe that he'd finally been bold enough to admit to the man how much he loved him. The mere thought that he could have lost his Sunshine in last night's explosion brought up a new wave of anxiety followed immediately by the same overwhelming sense of relief he'd experienced when he realized that Justin was safe.

 

Maybe Justin would come join him back at the loft? Brian knew that they still had issues to work out - it had only been a few weeks since their last argument which had resulted in Justin once again moving out. But, the cold touch of mortality he'd had last night was all the incentive Brian needed to try once again to make things right with the only man he truly loved. He would do whatever it took to get Justin back and this time he'd keep him.

 

Thinking happily about how great the reunion sex would be once he had Justin back in the loft where he belonged, Brian glanced down at his phone, prepared to hit speed dial #1 to call his favorite blond. Unfortunately, he had to wait while the phone powered on. He must have forgotten to turn it back on after the last time he left the hospital last night.

 

As the power came on, the display informed him that he had three voice mail messages waiting. He quickly punched the button to listen to the messages. He hoped that at least one message would convey good news about his best friend Mikey.

 

"Hey, Brian," Justin's voice sounded tired and stressed. "There's no way I'm going to be able to get any rest. I'm still too worried about Michael. If you're heading back to the hospital, maybe you could pick me up? I'm going to get cleaned up and maybe paint a little until you get here. Call me. . . *click* . . . Oh . . . *rattle* . . . Fuck!"

 

The end of the message - that, 'Oh, fuck' - was oddly muted. It was as if the phone had been dropped while Justin was still talking.  He sounded startled but Brian couldn't tell if it was a pissed off 'Oh, fuck', a scared 'Oh, fuck' or just your run-of-the-mill, I'm-stressed-out-from-almost-getting-blown-up-tonight 'Oh, fuck'. Brian immediately listened to the message again, but the words were too muffled to convey any further clues as to why the message ended so abruptly.

 

According to the display the call had come in about 11:30 last night, which would have been pretty much just after he left Babylon. Brian quickly played the other two messages to see if the blond had called back but neither was from him. The second message was from Deb telling him what he already knew - that Mikey was out of surgery but the doctors wouldn't give any further prognosis until he woke up and they had a chance to examine him. The last message was just a hang up received around 1:00 am - probably one of the gang trying to check in.

 

The tired brunet pushed the button to call Justin back, curious and a little concerned now about that earlier call. It rang several times but no one answered and it eventually went to voicemail. He left a quick, short message, planning to try again after he got home and showered.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The stocky blond rolled out of the uncomfortable makeshift bed he'd assembled in the corner and stretched. It didn't help much - he'd slept badly and his neck was so stiff now he could barely turn his head. Hobbs looked at his watch noting that it was after eight in the morning. Fuck. He was due at his shitty excuse for a job by nine, which meant he wouldn't have time to run by his apartment for a shower first. Oh well. Like it really mattered how he looked at work these days.

 

He shuffled over to the front of the wire mesh cage and looked down on the figure huddled on the floor inside. Taylor was still sleeping. Or at least he thought the man was sleeping - he actually hadn’t woken up at all since Hobbs had been forced to knock him out last night. Chris stared intently at the still form but was relieved to see that Taylor’s chest continued to rise and fall regularly, so at least he was still breathing.

 

::::::::::::::::::::

 

Fucking Taylor always had to make everything difficult. Hobbs hadn’t really planned to hit him but Taylor had started yelling. Chris had to hit him just to shut him up. It was just unlucky that when he slugged him, Taylor had fallen backwards and knocked himself unconscious against that stupid support beam standing in the middle of the damn apartment. Who was the idiot who designed the place with a beam right in the middle of the walkway by the door anyway.

 

Actually, Chris hadn’t really planned anything that had happened last night after he got to Taylor’s crappy loft apartment. He’d still been staggeringly angry that the bombing hadn’t worked right. He wasn’t really thinking at all when he followed the blond artist up what seemed like a hundred floors of the old falling down warehouse building and surreptitiously watched as Taylor opened the door and went inside an apartment.

 

At first all he’d done was stand in the hallway, leaning against the wall and panting until he finally got his breath back. He wasn’t exactly in as great of shape as he had been back in his football days and walking up a bazillion flights of stairs had more than winded him. It had taken him more than ten minutes before he recovered to the point that he no longer felt he was going to die from the exertion. Then, he’d cautiously listened at the door for several minutes, not exactly sure what he intended to do now that he was there.

 

Inside the apartment he could hear Taylor moving around, his feet padding around on the hardwood flooring. He heard a door creak open and then gently thud closed. He heard the sound of something rattling - it sounded like something rolling around in a tin can, maybe. Then there was a soft swishing noise, barely a whisper of sound, but still clearly audible through the paper-thin walls of the tenement.  

 

After standing there for several long minutes, Hobbs was still unsure what it was he was doing. He’d followed Taylor on pure instinct without any plan. Following Taylor wasn’t without precedent, since he’d been following the other man off and on for more than a year now while laying his plans for the botched bombing. This was the first time he’d been to this building though. Last he knew, Taylor was still living in that swanky place off Tremont with his sugar daddy. Apparently Hobbs had missed something if Taylor was living here alone now. But, it was good to know that the blond was living here, apparently alone. Hobbs wasn’t ready to give up his desire for revenge and, whatever plan he eventually came up with, having the faggot living in this rickety old building with absolutely no security made everything easier.

 

Hobbs listened in while Taylor made a call - seemingly to his bitch mother - telling her he was home and talking again about the incident at the club. From the conversation, it sounded like some friend of Taylor’s had been hurt tonight, so at least the bombing wasn’t a total bust - hurting one of Taylor’s friends was almost as good as hurting the blond himself, as far as Hobbs was concerned.

 

After the call to his mother, nothing much more happened inside the apartment for some time. Hobbs heard more footsteps and more rattling and swishing noises but that was it. He was getting tired and bored and was just about to leave when he heard Taylor speaking again, this time leaving a message for Kinney. Hobbs was leaning in, eavesdropping again, when he was startled by a noise coming from one of the other apartments on the floor.

 

His instinct was to hide. He didn’t want to be caught snooping at doorways and wandering around aimlessly in hallways. His hand twisted the doorknob where he’d been standing and he was amazed that it actually turned freely, the door swinging open without a noise. Hobbs rapidly scooted inside just as the door down the hall opened and two jabbering meth-head types came ambling down the passageway. Hobbs pushed the door closed behind him and heard the latch *click* loudly, the sound causing Taylor, who was standing only a few feet away, to spin around.

 

“Oh,” was all Taylor said, his face showing shock and fear, as his hand, still holding the cell phone fell to his side.

 

Taylor had already seen him and the meth-heads were still out there babbling in the hallway so he couldn’t go back. There really wasn’t anything else that Hobbs could do at that point except move forward. He took two long steps towards the blond, whose attempt to back away was blocked by a large table set up on trestles in the middle of the room. Hobbs grabbed for Taylor causing the other man to knock against the table, upsetting a tin can with something sticking out of it that fell to the floor with a rattle.  

 

“Fuck,” Taylor said in a breathless voice as Hobbs closed the distance between them and grabbed the cell phone out of Taylor’s unresisting hands. Hobbs adroitly snapped the phone closed, ending the call, then placed the phone on the table top. Taylor was still standing there stunned, unmoving, frozen in place.

 

“Hello, Taylor,” Hobbs said with a sneer and a low chuckle, crossing his arms and standing tall, elated with how intimidated Taylor appeared. “Love the new digs. You really should have the super fix the lock on the rear door though. You never know who will just wander in.”

 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Hobbs,” Justin finally found his voice, although his forceful tone was belied by his frightened demeanor.

 

“Just thought I’d stop in and say hello, faggot. It’s been a while, you know. The last time we talked you were shoving a gun down my throat and threatening to kill me. That wasn’t really the way I wanted to leave things, so I figured we could have another chat. This time, without the gun, and see how brave you are now.”

 

As he spoke, Hobbs was moving closer to the smaller man, using his bulk to push Taylor around the edge of the table and back towards the rear wall. Taylor’s weight against the edge of the trestle table pushed the still wet painting lying on the top until, as he backed away even further, the canvas toppled over and landed on it’s edge, propped awkwardly against the side of the table.

 

The crash of the large painting against the floorboards distracted Hobbs briefly. Taylor tried to jig around the much taller and bulkier man, making a dash for the door. Hobbs might not have been quite as nimble, but he was still fast enough to grab ahold of the back of Taylor’s shirt, swinging the slighter man around and causing Taylor to slam into the wall next to the door. The two men grappled with each other, Hobbs’ fists twisted in the fabric of Justin’s shirt, as Justin desperately tried to get to the door. Taylor was yelling obscenities as he struggled to free himself, his strength surprising Hobbs at first since the artist had always seemed so much smaller and more fragile. Taylor managed to get in one good swing which connected with Hobbs’ jaw before the taller man could grab the flailing wrist.

 

Hobbs was getting fed up and his anger from earlier, which had never ebbed completely, was bubbling up again, boosting his strength with sheer rage. When Justin’s fist made contact with his jaw, even though the punch didn’t hurt much, it was enough to blast away any restraint Hobbs might have had on his anger. With a primal roar, Hobbs pulled back his meaty fist and slammed it into Taylor’s gut with all his strength. Taylor went flying backwards, his feet at least a foot off the ground as his head banged into the metal support beam in the center of the room. The blond crumpled to the floor in a ragged heap, a trickle of blood dripping onto the base of the beam where Taylor’s head lay against it.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Hobbs shook his head at the still unconscious heap. It was Taylor’s own fault, he thought. But, Hobbs didn’t have time to worry about that or the blond right now. He dug around inside a large canvas duffle bag that had been sitting near his former bed and pulled out a bottle of water which he placed near the cage where Taylor could reach it. If he ever woke up. If he didn’t. . . .  well, Hobbs would worry about that later, too.

 

He double checked to make sure that the cage door was firmly locked, then turned around, grabbed the duffle bag and walked out the door behind him, locking that as well.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep! Another cliff hanger. He he he (evil laughter from author as I dance off to the library). TAG


	3. The Hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea! I've got another chapter for you! Inside, we get another glimpse of Hobbs' current life. I gave him the absolute worst job I could possibly imagine - just a little payback for what he's done to our poor Justin. Hope you enjoy! TAG

Chapter 3 - The Hole.

 

"You're late, Hobbs," was the first thing he heard as he rounded the bed of his cherry red Dodge Ram truck, heading towards today's job site. "I'm docking your pay for this. You've been warned before."

 

Fucking A! It was just his luck that the boss had to be here the one morning he'd been late all month. He didn't bother to reply, though, knowing any wisecracks would simply get him in more trouble. His boss already didn't like him much and Hobbs couldn't afford to lose this job - no matter how crappy it was - construction industry jobs were scarce these days.

 

He did give the asshole the finger though as soon as his back was turned. The guy was a complete asshole and always had been. Hobbs couldn't believe he was reduced to working for Paul Murchison. Paul had been nothing back in high school. Back then he was just one of those nerdy guys always hanging around the fringes of the popular group. Hobbs remembered when Paul used to follow him around, hanging on his every word and always willing to do him favors.

 

Of course, that was back when Hobbs had been the quarterback of the football team, respected and looked up to by everyone and the leader of the popular clique at school. That was before Taylor came along and Hobbs became the laughingstock of the entire school. As soon as Hobbs fell from grace, Paul, like the lowly sycophant that he was, was one of the first to tease and harass Hobbs. It was Paul who'd made that comment at Prom that had led to Hobbs taking a bat to Taylor's head in the parking garage.

 

Today, because of Taylor, Hobbs was a nothing. Murchison however was the owner of a profitable and rapidly growing construction firm that had just won a major contract with the City of Pittsburgh to retrofit all of the city's ancient, crumbling sewage lines. Which, unfortunately, explained why Hobbs was working for Murchison and not the other way around.

 

Knowing that there was nothing he could do to get back at Murchison, Hobbs shuffled despondently over to the trailer that was serving as a mobile office for the construction company at this site. He grabbed a quick cup of weak coffee from the urn inside and then stood with the others to get his job assignment for the day. After directing several of the others to various different jobs and locations, the supervisor finally acknowledged Hobbs' presence, nodding at him with a slight frown.

 

"Nice of you to join us today, Hobbs. Hope we're not infringing on your beauty sleep by asking you to get here by nine," the manager commented, eliciting several derogatory chuckles from his co-workers. "Since you're late, you get to be in the Hole today. Better grab some boots and hip waders along with your shovel. There was a bit of a leak down there last night."

 

That comment earned the supervisor another round of guffaws from the employees, all of whom were more than thankful that they hadn't been assigned to the Hole today. Hobbs scowled at the laughing men around him but didn't say anything. He just spun around, exited the office and went to the nearby equipment shed to put on a yellow, rubberized jumpsuit, rubber boots that went clear up his thighs, gloves and a breathing mask. He also grabbed a hand shovel and then put his hard hat on over everything. Once he was fully garbed in protective clothing he trudged outside and climbed down the ladder protruding from a huge crater dug out of the center of the roadway.

 

Even with the breathing mask, Hobbs was almost overwhelmed by the stench in the Hole. The fucking supervisor wasn't joking about there being a 'little' leak down here. He could easily see where the old concrete sewage pipe had broken wide open. The entire bottom of the pit was filled about a foot deep with raw sewage.

 

Hobbs just ground his teeth together behind his mask and started shoveling. Talk about crappy jobs.

 

::::::::::::::::::::

 

Despite his exhaustion, Brian had only managed to get about an hour of sleep. His nightmare about seeing himself in the coffin at Michael's funeral destroyed any further hope he had of resting. He decided it would be better to just power through the fatigue. Instead he would go back to the hospital and check on Mikey and then head into the office.

 

Before he left the loft, Brian tried to call Justin's cell phone again. He hoped that the reason he got only voicemail again was because his Sunshine was sleeping. He told himself he'd try again after he finished at the hospital.

 

When Brian still hadn't heard back from Justin by four in the afternoon, he was getting a little peeved. Was the blond still angry with him? He didn't think so, at least not after their mutual confessions last night while standing in the rain in front of the club. But then why hadn't Justin called him back?

 

"Jennifer, it's Brian," he said when he finally broke down and called his erstwhile 'mother-in-law'. "I've been trying to reach your son all day without much success. Have you heard from him?"

 

"Sorry, Brian. I haven't heard from him today," Jennifer confessed. "I did talk to him last night after he got home from club. He told me that he was going to head back out to the hospital, though. He said he was too worked up to sleep so he was going to go keep Debbie company. Maybe he just got back real late and is still sleeping?"

 

"He never made it to the hospital. I was there most of the night and then went back again around noon. I never saw him and Deb didn't say anything about Justin being there either." The edge of panic that Brian's voice had whenever he went into 'protective' mode was clear even through the phone lines and it immediately triggered a similar reaction from the concerned mother.

 

"Do you think . . ." Jennifer didn't get any further with her speculation, though, as Brian cut her off.

 

"Give me the address of his new apartment. I'm going over there to check on him," Brian demanded. "I'll call you back once I've found him."

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The one good thing about physical labor was that it only occupied your body. Your mind was free to think while your muscles did their thing almost automatically. And, after a full day of grubbing around in the hole, Hobbs had had plenty of time to think and plan. He'd mulled over the idea that had first come to him last night as he stood over Taylor's body in that drafty loft, fleshed it out a bit and worked out all the details. He now had a plan as to just exactly how he would get sufficient payback from Taylor and all his insufferable fairy friends.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

He had to admit that he’d been tempted to just strangle the fucking faggot and get it over with. After all, if the bombing had gone the way it was supposed to that would have been the end result - crispy fried Justin.  But, while he was standing in Taylor’s loft apartment last night, looking down on the unconscious but still breathing form and trying to figure out what he was going to do with the body if he did finish off the bugger, he realized that his impromptu actions had the potential to cause him a lot of grief.

 

Since Hobbs hadn’t planned any of this, he also hadn’t taken any precautions against getting caught. If Taylor’s body was found here, in this apartment, there was potentially a lot of evidence that might lead back to him. He didn’t know shit about cop stuff, except what he’d seen in movies and TV, but he figured that he’d probably left fingerprints all over the place on his way in - he’d handled the outside door and railing, the stairwell railing, Taylor’s door and even some objects inside, plus there was hair and fibers and all that other shit they babbled on about in cop shows. He wasn’t sure, but those two meth-head neighbors of Taylor’s might have caught a glimpse of him. He’d even split a knuckle while they were fighting, which meant that his blood was probably around here somewhere meaning his DNA was just waiting for the cops to find it. There was no way he’d be able to clean it all up and be one hundred percent certain he wouldn’t get caught. And, while he wanted Taylor dead, Hobbs didn’t want to get caught doing it.

 

The only solution was to get Taylor out of here and get rid of the body somewhere else. He’d heard somewhere that if there was no body, the cops couldn’t prove there had been a murder. So if he wanted to kill Taylor, he’d have to find a way to hide the body. However, that was almost equally problematic. First of all, he didn’t know how to get the body out of the building and all to way back to his car, which was still parked on Liberty Avenue a few blocks from Bablyon, without being seen. If he left the body here while he went to get the car, he ran the risk of someone finding it before he could get back.

 

Oh, yeah - there was also the little problem of where to dispose of the body. He could probably come up with someplace with a little time to think it through, but he didn’t have anywhere in mind right off the top of his head. He wasn’t going to just dump the body on the side of the road and lead the cops right back here. He had to play it smart and think about it and plan. And, in the meantime, he couldn’t just leave a rotting corpse sitting around in his apartment.

 

It was too late to just walk away. If Taylor woke up, he’d just send the police after Hobbs directly and that would be that. He was sure a second assault charge wouldn’t end up with him only getting community service. Which meant that he couldn’t just leave Taylor here, alive, either.

 

Okay, so he couldn’t kill Taylor right now and he couldn’t leave him here alive. That left only taking Taylor with him - alive for now - and then. . . . .what? Well, Hobbs didn’t really know what he’d do next, but he figured he’d work that out later. For now, he just had to get Taylor out of here and take him somewhere where Taylor wouldn’t be found and where he couldn’t get away and go to the cops. Luckily, Hobbs had the perfect place in mind where he could stash his little captive for a few days until he figured out what to do next. The Cage would work perfectly. All he had to do was devise a way to get Taylor there.

 

Hobbs hunkered down next to Taylor and slapped him on the face a couple times. No response. Taylor was still out pretty good. Hopefully, he’d stay asleep long enough for Hobbs to get him to his planned destination.

 

So, how to move an unconscious body without drawing too much attention to oneself? Obviously, he’d have to carry the guy, which meant hauling his sleeping ass down all those flights of stairs since the big “Out of Order’ sign on the elevator doors was one of the first things he’d seen when he followed Taylor inside earlier. And, while that was doable, it was a long way to carry an unconscious body without being seen. He’d also need to get Taylor to the Cage without going back to his car or the environs of Liberty Avenue, which were likely still crawling with cops.

 

He started to wander around the apartment, looking around aimlessly for inspiration. In the beat-up metal cabinet against the far wall, Hobbs found a bottle of tequila and another of scotch. He pulled out the scotch and took a swig to help bolster his confidence. A bit of the liquor dribble out the side of his mouth and onto the front of his shirt.

 

Shit. Now he smelled like he’d been out drinking all night. . . . . Which wasn’t actually a bad thing, now that he thought about it.

 

Hobbs got a huge grin on his face as he looked at the bottle again and worked out the brilliant plan that he’d just come up with. He walked over to where Taylor was lying and upended the bottle over the limp form, pouring about a quarter of the bottle on the man’s chest and drenching his shirt. Then he used the liquid and a corner of Taylor’s shirt to wipe off the small trickle of blood that had dried on the injured man’s right temple. Finally, Hobbs grabbed Taylor’s cell phone from where it was still lying on the edge of the trestle table, opened the phone and dialed 411, asking the operator to put him through to Checker’s Cab Company.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Hobbs was stumbling down the stairs somewhere around the fourth floor level, Taylor’s arm pulled over his shoulder and one arm around the slumping figure’s waist, when he was passed by a group of three young men, also heading down the stairs.

 

“Hey, dude. What’s with. . . ?” asked the last of the group, a tall, skinny white guy who’s long dirty blond hair was held back in a ponytail with what looked like a twist-tie off a loaf of bread, indicating with his chin the dragging man in my arms.

 

Speaking loudly and slurring his words slightly for effect, Chris answered, “Hey man, could you give me a hand here? My buddy’s fucking drunk out of his mind, dude. I’m trying to get him down to the cab to get him home, but these fucking stairs are killing me.”

 

All three of the men stopped and laughed. The skinny blond trotted back up the few stairs to where Hobbs was and put his arm around Taylor’s waist from the other side. “Whew! How much did this guy drink?” asked the guy. “It smells like he spilled more on him than he got inside him.”

 

“I stopped counting after about the tenth shot,” Hobbs lied. “Sure wish there were fewer stairs in this fucking building though.”

 

“Goddamned management company is too cheap to fix the damned elevator,” one of the other men complained as Hobbs and his new assistant got Taylor moving down the stairs again. “It’s been broken for three months now. Bet that’s gotta be some kinda fire code violation or something, right dude?”

 

Hobbs didn’t bother to respond, but he smiled a lopsided smile at the guy and just kept up his act of drunken lout. With the other man helping, Hobbs managed to get Taylor down to the ground floor and out the door in short order. The taxi that he’d ordered was just driving up as they stepped out on the sidewalk. The blond guy helped him maneuver Taylor into the cab and then Hobbs gave the cabbie the address.  Taylor was still out, thankfully. Hobbs relaxed back into the torn leather seat of the cab as they drove off, impressed with himself that he’d actually pulled this off.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::

 

“Okay, time to wrap it up, Hobbs,” the site supervisor yelled down to him as Hobbs, still down in the Hole, drove his shovel into another of the willow roots that he’d been grubbing up for the past two hours.

 

He climbed up the ladder, emerging from the Hole, glad to finally be able to remove the breathing mask he’d been wearing for most of the day. He started stripping off the protective clothing before he even entered the equipment shed. He was anxious to get back to the Cage and start on his plans for Taylor.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::

 

Brian had reached the landing on the top floor of the dilapidated shell that Justin was now calling home. He was panting heavily after the effort but consoled himself that by having to take the stairs he’d saved himself an hour at the gym. Fuck, this place was such a dump, he thought. On top of the non-operational elevator, the stair railings were rickety, the walls and hallways were grubby and the whole place smelled like dead cat. He was appalled that Justin was actually living here and mentally made plans to change that fact as soon as possible.

 

It didn’t take him long to find the right apartment, and he strode confidently over to the door, rapping loudly on the ugly wood veneer. He waited for a response from within for all of thirty seconds - which was patient by Brian Kinney standards - before grabbing the door handle and twisting it to let himself in. He was pissed off that Justin had left the door unlocked, but that was typical of the stupid little twink. He’d have to remind the boy again later to always keep the door locked when he was home alone.

 

“Justin? It’s me,” he announced himself as he walked tentatively into the apartment. “Justin?”

 

There didn’t appear to be anyone home. The ‘apartment’ - if you could call this one-roomed hovel an apartment - was on the largish side, very open and airy with large multi-paned windows on two sides. There was a counter with cupboards below against one wall and a large, paint-splashed sink in the near corner. In the far corner there was a mattress set up on the floor, the sheets rumpled and the duvet spilling onto the wooden floorboards. An old wooden milk crate on its side with a lamp on top served as a bedside table. There were a couple of other cabinets, a dresser and another milk-crate table around the edge of the room - each item of furniture appearing to have been rescued from a dumpster somewhere in the nastier parts of town. Other than that, the only thing to see in the room was the large table set up on trestles in the center of the room - presumably where Justin painted. What Brian didn’t see in the apartment was the blond twink he’d come to find.

 

Brian walked around the table in the center of the room, looking desultorily around him for any clues about Justin’s likely whereabouts. There really didn’t seem to be anything much here, though. He stopped briefly to admire the canvas that was standing on it’s edge and leaning against the side of the table, thinking that this must have been the painting Justin was working on last night when he’d called and left that message. Brian carefully felt along the top edge of the painting and noted that there were a couple spots that weren’t yet completely dry. He delicately lifted the canvas up, hopefully avoiding getting any paint on his suit, and slid the whole thing back onto the table where it would dry without risk of running or getting damaged. He wondered briefly why Justin had set the canvas on the floor when it was still damp. It wasn’t like Justin to be so careless with his artwork.

 

Moving around the edge of the table to look at the canvas from another angle, Brian’s foot knocked against a tin can lying on the floor and sent it rolling. As the can rolled, paint dribbled out the top and a large fantail brush flopped out onto the floor. Brian ran after the retreating can, scooping it up as fast as possible before it made an even bigger mess, picking up the brush as well. He noticed that the paint in the can was mostly dried up and that the bristles of the brush were clogged with dried paint. That was extremely odd. Justin was fanatic about taking care of his brushes, always appreciative of how expensive they were to replace. The artist would never leave a brush sitting in a can of drying paint all night.

 

Something was definitely NOT right here, Brian thought.

 

He moved around the table again, scanning the floor more carefully this time to see if there was something else that might have gotten knocked to the floor. He didn’t see anything else near the trestle table area, but he kept looking as he moved towards the sink. Still not finding anything Brian went back around the large support beam standing between the table and the door.

 

That’s when he saw the dark reddish-brown puddle on the floor at the base of the support pillar. He knelt and reached down to dip his index finger in the small pool. It wasn’t more spilled paint. It was blood.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already figured it out, this whole story is pretty much going to be one BIG cliffhanger. Hey - it's a mystery so deal with it! You'll just have to keep reading and follow along with Brian as he collects all the clues to figure out where Justin is being held. Will he make it in time to rescue Justin before Hobbs decides to finish off his nemesis? Keep reading to see. TAG


	4. The Hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to Create a Super Villain 101 - take an ordinary guy, make him almost sympathetic and then twist him until his mind snaps. He he he. Poor Justin, those Pink Posse days were a mistake in more ways than you could ever imagine! Look where it got you. I promise, however, that no real Justin's were harmed in the writing of this fic and (eventually, after I've tortured them sufficiently) our boys will emerge from this story just fine. In the meantime, though, enjoy the torture! TAG

Chapter 4 - The Hospital.

 

"I'm telling you Carl, something's happened to Justin. No one’s seen him or heard from him since last night, his apartment was unlocked, he left his art stuff a mess and there was bl-blood . . . " even saying the word out loud caused Brian's sense of panic to rise again, making the usually self-assured man stutter uncharacteristically.

 

"How much blood?" Carl asked, his voice and gruff manner betraying how weary the older detective was, even through the phone lines.

 

"Wh-what do you mean, 'how much'?"

 

"What I mean is - and I'm sorry but I'm too exhausted to think of a tactful way to say this right now - was there so much blood that it looks like he was murdered?" Carl asked bluntly.

 

"Fuck," Brian closed his eyes briefly and swallowed reflexively as the word 'murdered' caused bile to rise up in his throat. "I guess . . . Uh . . . No, there wasn't that much blood, but I still think . . ."

 

"I'm sorry, Brian," Carl interrupted before he could get anything else out. "Pretty much every available detective in the precinct has been pulled in to work on the bombing at your club. Two more of the injured died last night at the hospital - that brings the body count up to six. I haven't even made it home yet. I simply don't have the time or the manpower to go looking for missing boyfriends right now. So, unless Justin's been murdered, I can't help you."

 

"Fine. I'll find him myself," Brian growled into the phone before hitting the button to disconnect the call.

 

Brian scanned Justin's empty apartment again from where he was still standing next to the bloodstained support beam. He knew that something was wrong. Justin wasn't just off running some errand or taking a walk. His gut was telling him that Justin was in trouble. He knew that the police weren't going to be able to help. Brian was going to have to search for Justin on his own.

 

"If only I knew where to start looking, Sunshine," Brian mumbled in futile complaint.

 

::::::::::::::::::

 

Hobbs stood looking down at the injured man who was still lying on the floor of the Cage. The scowling man kicked at the unconscious form a little. Justin's eyelids fluttered and he moaned, but otherwise he was unresponsive. Hobbs noted casually that his captive had moved a bit from the position he'd left him in this morning, so Taylor had to have been awake for at least a little while during the day, but the water bottle was untouched.

 

He tossed the greasy paper bag he'd been holding onto the floor next to the prostrate form and then exited and relocked the wire mesh door. Hobbs piled a couple of boxes up as a makeshift table and set his own bag of greasy fast-food take-out on top before pulling the old folding chair out from behind the door and making himself comfortable. He took the lumpy, squashed burger out of the bag and started to eat while he contemplated the defenseless man lying nearby.

 

It felt good to have Taylor at his mercy. Finally. He felt powerful and in charge. It had been a long time since Hobbs felt this much in control and he liked it. If only the little faggot would wake up, it would be perfect. He looked forward to making the man grovel at his feet and beg in utter humiliation. He’d been looking forward to this day for so long. Let’s see how Taylor liked kneeling at HIS feet and begging for HIS forgiveness.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Remembering back to that cold night, more than a year ago, when their positions had been reversed, made Hobbs cringe. He hated remembering that night. The night that Taylor had ambushed him at his home, held a gun on him and humiliated him in front of one of Taylor's fairy buddies.

 

The funny thing was that prior to that night, Hobbs had almost forgiven Taylor. He thought he was starting to move on and wasn’t feeling quite as bitter. Granted, he’d missed out on the college scholarship, but now he had a good job as the assistant site manager at a high rise construction job downtown and he was making good money. He’d just bought a new truck, he was dating a hot chick, Sara, that he’d met through a mutual friend and life seemed okay. He’d even been planning on taking Sara out to meet his folks that weekend. He hoped that his Dad would finally be impressed. Maybe after seeing his son with the shapely, blonde bombshell, his dad would quit riding his ass for a while.

 

It was quite the surprise when Taylor and the other guy had turned up at the job site the day before. He honestly didn’t even recognize Taylor at first - his mind had been on other, more pleasant things, not his hated old high school nemesis. When he did finally put a name to the slight young man with the shaved head standing with gaping mouth in front of him, he’d laughed. Taylor was tongue-tied and clearly still frightened of him. Out of habit, more than anything, he’d taunted the little fairy and laughed even more when Taylor had run away. But Hobbs really hadn’t thought anything more about the man after Taylor had left. He’d gone out with his friends for a few beers that night, called Sara and spent time thinking about his plans for the weekend.

 

Everything had changed the next night when a new, improved and much more aggressive Taylor had shown up at his home.

 

He could still remember the feel of the gun's oily steel barrel being shoved into his mouth as Taylor loomed above him. He’d been so fucking scared. Taylor had forced him to get down on his knees and grovel. He’d been forced to apologize for things he blamed on Taylor. Meanwhile, the other guy was standing in the background urging Taylor on and daring him to pull the trigger. Hobbs could sense Taylor’s index finger start to contract at one point and he just knew he was about to die. Hobbs had been so terrified that he actually shit his pants.

 

Then, that fucking, condescending asswipe, Taylor, had just walked away. The fucker had totally humiliated him and then, with a superior look on his snide little puss, he’d walked away, while the other idiot was yelling at Taylor to come back and finish the job. Hobbs was so demeaned and ashamed - his muscles were shaking and he could barely get up and walk away even after Taylor had left - that all he did after he got in his house was crumple in a little ball and cry like a fucking baby for hours afterwards.

 

Hobbs had hid in his house the rest of the night and all the next day, afraid that Taylor would change his mind and come back to kill him. He was too humiliated to tell anyone else what had happened and he was too anxious to even go outside. He’d missed work the next day and hadn’t even had the strength to get up and call in sick.

 

But, the worst part wasn’t the fear. It was the degradation and the feelings of powerlessness that he just couldn’t shake, that caused the most damage. Taylor had already taken away his dreams of football and college. Now Taylor had taken away his sense of control over the rest of his life. Hobbs felt hopeless and depressed. It seemed that meeting Taylor had repercussions that he would never escape.

 

When he didn’t shown for work on the third day, his boss called and left him a message saying he was fired. By that point, Hobbs really didn’t care. Unfortunately, the owner of the company happened to be a friend of his dad’s. The following day, Dad had shown up at his house demanding to know why his son was such a total fuck up that he’d thrown away a perfectly good job. Hobbs had spent the better part of the next hour being yelled at by his unappreciative father and told that he needed to get his act together, that he’d fucked up for the last time and that the family wasn’t going to bail him out again. He hadn’t even bothered to try to explain to his father what had happened. He’d already been told after the trial that his Dad didn’t ever want to hear anything more about Taylor.

 

At the end of the tirade, Hobbs looked up at his father’s angry, red face and all he could do was laugh at the ridiculous and hopeless situation. His father didn’t really take being laughed at very well. Dad had stormed out after telling Hobbs not to bother coming around the house until he’d straightened himself out. Hobbs just couldn’t stop laughing though, cackling uncontrollably like a lunatic until long after his father’s car had driven out of sight.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Now, however, he finally had a chance to turn the tables on Taylor. He was the one in control now. He was the one with the power while Taylor was locked in a metal cage, completely at Hobbs’ mercy. But, Hobbs wasn’t going to waste his time with idle threats. Taylor had stripped him of his friends, his family and his self-respect. Now he was going to do the same in return.

 

Hobbs wadded up the empty fast food wrappings and tossed the refuse into the far corner of the room. Time to get on to business. He pulled Taylor’s cell phone out of his pocket and pushed the button to relisten to the voicemail message that had come in last night while he was still in the taxi with Taylor on their way here.

 

“Hey, baby. It’s Emmett. Just checking in to see if you’re okay. I’m still here at the hospital with the gang waiting to hear about Michael. They took him into surgery about an hour ago and there’s still no word. I’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything. Call me and let me know you’re alright. Bye!”

 

Michael. Right, that was the name of the one who was hurt in the bombing last night. Hobbs thought that was as good a place to start as any. He knew where this Michael would be and that the man would be in no shape to fight back. Michael would be the first of Taylor’s friends to be removed.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Emmett was just getting ready to head back to Deb’s house. He’d been at the hospital all last night before finally breaking down and allowing Ted to drive him home at dawn. He was scared for his friend and didn’t know how to handle the anxiety that was overwhelming him. If it hadn’t been for Drew, he’d probably still be huddled on the couch watching old movies and eating ice cream out of the carton. But, after a lot of persuasion, his sweetie had talked him into coming back to the hospital once they’d heard that Michael was awake and doing better.

 

Just as he was gathering his coat and scarf from the table in the waiting room, he felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out of his jeans to see who was trying to reach him. There was a new text message from Justin. ‘How’s Michael?’

 

Emmett started to type as he walked towards the elevator where Drew was waiting for him, answering the text from his friend. ‘He’s going 2 B ok! He’s moved up to Rm 542. Call me, Baby!’

 

Neither Emmett nor Drew saw the tall, dark blond man standing, partially hidden by the vending machines near the rear exit of the hospital, as they got off the elevator and headed for the door. Emmett pushed the ‘send’ button to dispatch the text to Justin as soon as the elevator doors opened and he got a clear signal on his phone. Drew held the exit door for his lover, ushering the ebullient man out the door towards the parking lot as Emmett burbled on about how relieved he was that Michael was doing better, that they really should stop by and see Justin on the way home, that they should think about stopping by the apartment to get fresh clothes for Ben later, etc. Drew didn’t say much but he smiled at his man as the two walked away arm in arm.

As soon as they were out of sight, the lurking blond man shuffled out from his hiding spot and headed for the elevator. He double checked the text message on the phone in his hand and smirked. As he got into the elevator along with a doctor wearing light blue scrubs, the other man asked him politely what floor he wanted.

 

“Fifth floor, please,” Hobbs responded with a simpering smile, leaning back against the rear wall, trying to act casual.

 

Hobbs spent a moment reading the directory signs on the wall across from the elevator as soon as he reached the fifth floor. Once he’d oriented himself, he headed down the corridor towards room 542. There was a large waiting area with comfortably padded benches just down the hallway from the room he wanted. It was mostly deserted at the moment, fortunately, with only one elderly couple sitting together quietly in the far corner. Hobbs seated himself at the end of the row where he could just see the doorways to the rooms on the south side of the building if he leaned out from his seat a little. He picked up a nearby magazine and settled in to watch and wait.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

 

 

 

Brian had wasted nearly an hour calling everyone he knew, asking if anyone had seen Justin. He’d talked to several people and left messages on several more voicemails but so far he’d had no luck. No one had any idea where Justin was. Nobody had even talked to the man since last night. Brian was getting more and more uncomfortable and worried with every call. He was just about to give up and head out of Justin’s apartment, thinking he’d simply drive around town and see if he could find his missing twink that way, when his phone rang. He was disappointed to note from the caller ID that it was only Emmett.

 

“Hey, Brian. You rang?” Emmett drawled out in his campiest southern belle voice.

 

“Em, have you seen Justin?” Brian asked, getting straight to the point, too worried to deal with small talk.

 

“No, I haven’t, honey. Not since last night. But, I did just get a text from him. He wanted to know how Michael was doing." Emmett answered informatively.

 

“You did?” Brian asked incredulously. “Did he say where he was at? Was he going to the hospital?”

 

“He didn’t say - he only texted, sweetie. I never actually talked to him. . . “ Emmett was still talking when Brian hung up on him.

 

Brian was typing on his phone within seconds. ‘J, Where RU? Call me ASAP! B’. He sent the text and paced anxiously while he waited for a reply. Ten minutes later he still hadn’t received any response. He’d been holding his phone while he paced back and forth, his eyes almost glued to the display screen. He was so fed up that he growled and was about to throw his useless phone against the nearest wall, when he had an epiphany and slowly lowered his throwing arm.

 

“Fuck. Why didn’t I think of that in the first place,” Brian berated himself as he scrolled down the screen looking for the software application he wanted.

 

He and Justin had gotten these phones last year, just before the blond had taken off for his stint as a big shot Hollywood Creative Consultant. On top of buying the insurance and loading the phones with all the other bells and whistles he could think of at the time, Brian had signed them both up for a lost phone tracking service. Neither of them had ever had to use the app for a lost phone, but he had used the service several times when he’d been missing his Sunshine out in L.A. He’d surreptitiously tracked Justin’s whereabouts all the time when he was living the wild life in the City of Angels, feeling like he was still connected to the missing twink as long as he knew precisely where the little twat was. All he had to do was punch one little button on his phone and it would instantly pull up a GPS map that would tell him exactly where Justin was at any given moment.

 

The app took only moments to activate. Brian stared at the screen with joy. The colorful map of downtown Pittsburgh with the pinpoint locator arrow clearly showed that Justin’s phone, and therefore presumably Justin, was now at Allegheny General Hospital.

 

Brian ran for the door, wrenching it open and tearing down the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him, headed for the hospital and his errant boyfriend.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm even going to torture Michael in this fic. I'm feeling super wicked and ornery - it must be the depressing, rainy, cold weather. Last summer I was writing lighthearted, sexy, funny romps. Now, all you get is this never ending drama and mystery with repeated cliffy endings. Sorry, folks. Maybe by next spring I'll be back to writing happy fics? TAG


	5. The Room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go - another chapter in 'How to Torture Brian and Justin'. I threw in a little extra torture for Michael too since he was feeling left out. Just keep in mind that I'm not a doctor so all improbable medical situations are probably just that - improbable. Hope you Enjoy! TAG

Chapter 5 - The Room.

 

He'd been exceptionally patient. He'd been sitting in the boring waiting room for almost an hour, hiding behind the magazine whenever anyone came by, patiently watching Room 542. Hobbs could afford to be patient now that he was back in control.

 

The room had had many visitors over the past hour. Hobbs had watched as the people streamed in and out, all seemingly subdued but not unhappy, chatting in hushed voices, hugging each other and generally acting the way a close-knit family should. It made his blood boil - this group of mismatched fags pretending to be what they weren't. If anything, it strengthened his resolve to rid the planet of the lot of them.

 

Eventually, though, the parade of visitors diminished and there were only two left in the room - an older woman with an atrocious red wig and a well-built thirty-something blond guy. He strolled surreptitiously by the doorway every so often to get a glimpse of the room and its occupants. Hobbs didn't recognize the blond guy, but he remembered the woman from back at the trial. She'd been the loud mouthed one screaming at him after the sentencing hearing about 'protesting'. The bitch.

 

After the last batch of visitors left, the door to the room had been left wide open, allowing Hobbs to hear bits of the conversation between the remaining two and the patient. He couldn't hear much, but it was enough to confirm that the patient was indeed the man he was here for - Michael. Justin's friend and the first item on Hobbs' 'to do' list.

 

The only hold up was that the two remaining visitors didn't sound like they were ever going to leave. But, just as Hobbs' patience was beginning to give out, he watched with delight as one of the nurses strode purposefully into the room and announced that visiting hours were over and that they needed to leave so that the patient could rest. Hobbs could hear the bitchy woman's rather loud complaints but then he heard the big guy's low, mellow voice murmuring something which quieted the woman.

 

"Would you go already, Ma? Please. I'll be fine," said a third voice, complaining almost as loudly as the woman had earlier.

 

Reluctantly, the bewigged lady was finally convinced to leave, the blond guy holding her by the shoulders and physically guiding her out of the room.

 

"We'll be back first thing in the morning, Sweetie," the woman yelled back over her shoulder. "You get some rest now, you hear!"

 

"Go, Ma. Go!" drifted out from the room.

 

'Excellent!' thought Hobbs. Now he just had to wait until the nursing staff had finished its rounds. Hobbs stepped into the men's toilet so as not to be conspicuous after all the other visitos were shooed off the ward. Another twenty minutes passed and then Hobbs could tell by the quiet outside that all the activity had pretty much died down. He peeked out the door and noticed that only one nurse was left at the station down the hall, and she seemed engrossed by something on her computer. He slipped out into the deserted hallway and swiftly made his way to room 542 and pushed open the door with his shoulder.

 

The room was dark except for the muted glow coming from the LED displays of the various medical equipment arranged around the head of the bed. There was just enough light to see the man lying in the large hospital bed, his eyes closed and his breathing even. Hobbs pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his jacket pocket and slid his hands into them. It took him only a minute to scope out the room and decide on his plan of attack.

 

Hobbs had Taylor to thank for the two months of community service hours he'd had to put in at the AIDS hospice. It had creeped him out having to be around all those gaunt, emaciated living skeletons all day, but he had picked up quite a few useful tidbits of knowledge at that hell hole. One such nugget of wisdom, had been a familiarity with modern IV machines. Several of the hospice patients had used the machines to regulate the dosage of drugs they were being given. And, those in their final days often had been provided with machines that would allow them to self regulate their own pain medication. Hobbs had spent more than enough time at the hospice to learn how the machines worked.

 

So, when he noted that the IV machine in room 542 was the same model as those he'd worked with before, it gave him an idea. The perfect way to get rid of faggot number one on his list - accidental drug overdose. All he had to do was push a couple of buttons, instructing the machine to pump four times the current dosage of morphine into the patient, and then walk away. The machine would do his job for him.

  
  


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

  
  


The elevator doors weren't even fully open when Brian pushed his way through, then he took off running down the fifth floor corridor towards Michael's room. The lone nurse still sitting at the nurse's station was momentarily stunned by the unexpected sight. Brian ripped around the corner and slammed into the door of room 542, fumbling at the door handle briefly before the latch gave and the door swung open.

 

"Sunshine?" Brian yelled into the darkness before he could find the light switch.

 

As the lights came on, Brian was disappointed to see that the room was empty except for the outline of the patient in the large hospital bed against the far wall. When he'd seen the GPS read out indicating that Justin was at the hospital, he'd simply assumed that the blond was visiting their mutual friend. Michael was all alone though.

 

"Shit," Brian mumbled as he quietly approached the bed, trying not to wake the injured man who needed his rest in order to recover.

 

Brian had already been by the hospital earlier and was able to talk to his old friend for a few minutes. He'd been reassured by both Debbie and the doctor that Michael was doing much better and was almost completely out of danger, although his full recovery would still take several weeks. Brian was going to just duck back out of the room quietly but turned at the last minute and went back to the bed to leave a kiss on his best friend's temple.

 

As he bent over the side of the bed, Brian noted that Michael's face was very pale. He just didn't look right. Brian reached out and gently brushed Michael's hair off his forehead, alarmed at how cool the man's skin felt. He carefully watched his still friend for several seconds, and when he couldn't see immediately if Mikey was breathing or not, he hit the nurse call button in a panic.

 

The charge nurse, who was already on her way into the room to find out what the boisterous intruder was doing and to shoo him out, came in moments after Brian hit the call button. Brian turned to her, his panic evident on his flushed face.

 

"I don't think he's breathing," Brian blurted out, grabbing the nurse by the wrist and forcibly tugging her over to the bedside. "Fucking DO something."

 

The nurse calmly put two fingers to the side of the patient's neck, feeling for a pulse at the carotid artery, while Brian looked on in fear. She shook her head when she failed to find a pulse and turned immediately to the phone to send an emergency page calling for a 'code blue' crash team. The efficient and well trained nurse then turned back to her patient, climbed up onto the edge of the sturdy bed and began chest compressions to keep the unconscious man's blood circulating until the emergency team arrived.

 

Brian looked on impotently from the far side of the bed. He didn't know what was happening or what to do. He was paralyzed with the fear that his friend was dying in front of his very eyes. Before he could collect himself, he was shoved out of the way by a tall man wearing scrubs who was pulling a cart-load of medical equipment behind him. Within seconds the room was full of people, all efficiently moving around, wielding various implements and medical equipment, talking over each other as they yelled directions or responses to each other.

 

Brian backed up till he was leaning against the far wall, trying to stay out of everyone's way. He watched as Michael was unhooked from the machines he'd been attached to with various tubes and wires, and the bed was then lowered so the back lay flat, before new wires were attached. The tall man who'd first shoved him out of the way was holding two paddles hooked into another machine with electrical wires. He yelled 'clear', causing everyone else to step away from the bed for a moment, then touched the paddles to Michael's bared chest. The body of the man on the bed arched up. Immediately an electronic *beep, beep* noise rang out from the machine and the emergency team relaxed their stances.

 

As soon as the immediate crisis was past, a nurse finally noticed Brian who was still huddling against the wall watching as the emergency team packed up some of the extraneous equipment. The nurse came and resolutely guided Brian out of the room and back towards the waiting area, asking him to please stay there until someone could come speak with him. Brian, who was shaking by this point, did as he was told and slumped onto the padded bench by the wall.

 

Several minutes later, the tall scrub-clad man came out of the room and made a beeline towards where Brian was seated.

 

"I'm Dr. Stevens," the dark complected man introduced himself gruffly but didn't hold out his hand to Brian. "I need to ask what you were doing in Mr. Novotny's room.

 

"I'm . . . I'm Brian Kinney. I'm a friend of Michael's. I thought my partner, Justin, was here visiting with Michael," Brian responded, slowly regaining his composure. "Now, why don't you tell me what happened in there and why Michael wasn't breathing when I got here."

 

"I'm sorry but I can't discuss the patient's status with anyone who isn't family. Did you touch any of the medical equipment while you were in there," the doctor asked, regarding Brian critically as two burly men wearing hospital security uniforms strode up to stand on either side of Dr. Stevens, looming down over where Brian was seated.

 

"I AM his fucking family, damn it. Just call his mother, Debbie, or his partner, Ben, and they'll tell you," Brian started to lose his temper, fed up with the ridiculously antiquated hospital policies. "And, no, I didn't touch anything except the call button when I saw Mikey wasn't breathing. Now tell me what the fuck is going on!"

 

"It appears that someone tampered with the IV machine, Mr. Kinney," the doctor said accusingly. "I checked it myself when I did my last rounds - it was set with the correct dosage at that time. Since then, someone changed the dosage of the morphine drip Mr. Novotny was on for pain relief, resulting in a massive overdose. I'm going to report this to the police. I'll need you to go with security here until they arrive to question you, Mr, Kinney."

 

"What the fuck! You don't think I had anything to do with this? I was the one who found him . . ." Brian began to protest as the two security guards hauled him to his feet and tried to maneuver the protesting man down the hall as Brian continued to yell backwards over his shoulder to the doctor who remained stationary in the waiting room. "Just call Debbie Novotny. Fuck."

 

Neither Brian nor either of the security guards noticed the door to the men's room closing just as they passed by, or the face of the man that peeked out around the edge of the door as soon as the group had walked noisily by.

 

As soon as Brian and his escorts disappeared into the elevator, Dr. Stevens turned and went back into his patient's room, yelling to the nurse as he passed to call the man's emergency contacts and the police and put the calls through to him as soon as possible. The charge nurse scrambled to follow the doctor's directions, already afraid of the fallout that would be heading her way for this incident which had taken place during her watch.

 

When the nurse was distracted making her calls, Hobbs slipped out of the toilet and scurried down the temporarily deserted hallway to the stairway at the the end of the hall. He was eager to get the hell away from the hospital before the cops were called. He was a little disappointed that once again his plans had been foiled, but it had been fun watching the boyfriend being towed away by the security guards and getting blamed for it all. Hobbs would just have to bide his time and wait for another opportunity to get to Michael.

 

In the meantime, he already had other potential victims in mind.

 

:::::::::::::::

 

The first thing Justin became aware of was the ringing in his ears. It sounded like someone was blasting a slightly muffled bullhorn next to his head. He wanted to bat the annoying noisemaker away but his right hand felt strangely weak. He tried to blink his eyes to focus on his surroundings, but all the lights and colors were swirling around uncontrollably. He thought he was lying down but somehow he still felt dizzy so he closed his eyes to try and stop the spinning.

 

He wasn't sure how much later it was when he was awakened by other noises. It was dark now, wherever he was - he couldn't see the swirling colors only swirling shadows. His hearing seemed super sensitive though and every tiny noise grated on the inside of his skull, sending waves of pounding pain radiating out to overwhelm his other senses. He rolled over onto his right side and tried to curl up into a ball, but he was only partially successful, still feeling too weak to move much.

 

"It's fucking alive, after all!" said an unseen voice, it's timber sounding high pitched and distorted like when you used the echo function on a karaoke machine.

 

The lights were switched on and the sudden brilliance blinded Justin, sending new pains stabbing through his brain. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and moved his left hand to shade his eyes. He moaned but the added vibrations just exacerbated the pounding in his head.

 

"You're not looking too good there, though, are you Taylor?" the oddly echoing voice added then laughed, the laughter feeling like millions of shards of glass piercing through Justin's skull, causing him to writhe in pain.

 

Justin wanted to speak, to beg for help from whomever was there, but his body wasn't obeying the directions from his brain. He heard himself making undeciferable garbled noises. Each sound he uttered reverberated painfully in his head, prompting him to give up the attempt rather quickly.

 

With his eyes still closed against the agony causing light, he heard a very loud metal clanking noise and then felt something dropped on him from above - whatever it was, bouncing off his shoulder and then landing on the floor in front of his face. The odor of rancid grease coming off the object caused Justin's stomach to roil. He gagged, the involuntary movement jarring his aching body and adding to the nausea. Finally, Justin couldn't hold back any longer - he vomited up the contents of his stomach.

 

Too weak to even move afterwards, he simply lay there, grateful in a way that he was again losing consciousness.

 

"Gross. I'm not fucking cleaning that shit up," the echoes said in the background, the last thing he sensed before everything again faded to mercifully quiet and pain-free black.

::::::::::::::

 

"Brian Kinney! What the fuck is this shit the doctor's telling me about you fucking around with Michael's IV?" demanded Debbie as she barged into the basement office where the hospital security guys had been holding Brian for the past hour, followed immediately by her exhausted looking beau, Detective Carl Horvath.

 

"Shit, Deb. I didn't touch a goddamned thing. Michael wasn't breathing when I got here. All I did was call the nurse," Brian protested in an equally loud voice, scowling at the hulking security guards as he spoke. "Carl, would you please tell these fuckers who I am so I can get out of here."

 

Carl flashed his badge and introduced himself to the two guards, telling them he'd take it from here. Carl quickly ushered both Brian and Debbie outside and then cornered Brian, demanding an explanation. Brian explained again what had happened and then immediately asked Debbie how Michael was, since everyone had refused to give him any information from the time he'd been removed from the fifth floor.

 

"The doctor said Michael's going to be fine," Debbie reassured Brian, adding a hug and a red-lipstick coated smooch to his cheek. "They pumped him full of something to counteract the morphine and he's awake again. Thank God you found him when you did, Brian. The doctor said that it was the quick response to the overdose that saved him. If you hadn't found him, who knows when the fuck the incompetent nurses would have come around. He could have died. Thank you for saving my baby!"

 

Brian put up with Debbie's gushing for about two minutes total before it got to be too much for him. Brian started to back away, but Debbie wouldn't let him go till they'd all seen Michael. The trio headed back up to the fifth floor together, Debbie chattering all the way.

 

There were now two uniformed police officers outside of Michael's door. Carl showed his badge again and escorted Deb and Brian inside. This time the lights were all on when Brian entered and he could see Michael propped up on pillows on the bed, his eyes open and a welcoming grin on his face. Brian let out a sigh of relief at this proof that his friend was okay.

 

"Brian!" Michael trumpeted as soon as his friend came through the door. "They told me you were the one who found me. Thank God you got here when you did."

 

Hey, Mikey," Brian drawled, trying to resume his usual nonchalant mask now that he'd been assured of Michael's well being, but not quite able to hide a small happy grin. "Would you quit being such a drama queen and trying to die on me every day. I can't take this shit."

 

"Sorry, Bri. What was I thinking? I'll try not to keep dying since its so hard on YOU," Michael joked, reaching out to squeeze Brian's hand as he smiled up at the clearly relieved brunet.

 

"Michael!" interrupted Ben as he barreled through the door, racing to his husband's side.

 

Brian followed Carl out of the room as Michael and Ben reconnected, the younger man reassuring the older one that he was going to be fine. In the hallway, Carl was conversing with the uniformed cops so Brian held back, waiting to talk to Carl alone. After a few minutes, Carl shook each of the other cops' hands and then walked over to Brian, a very unhappy look on his lined and worn face.

 

"It looks like this was done deliberately," Carl confided in a hushed voice. "Both the doctor and the charge nurse checked on the machine earlier and they both say it was set correctly. But, after they revived Michael, the doctor noticed the dosage had been upped four-fold. The machine doesn't appear to have malfunctioned. That means someone had to have intentionally changed the dosage. But nobody saw anyone around here until you arrived. What were you doing here after visiting hours anyway?"

 

"I came here to find Justin," Brian explained. "I used the lost phone service we have on both phones and tracked his phone here to the hospital. I figured he was visiting Michael so I came up here as soon as I arrived. That's when I found Michael not breathing. I never did see Justin though. . ."

 

All the drama about Michael had pushed Brian's concern about Justin to the back of his mind until now. But this reminder brought all his worries to a head once again. He pulled out his phone and hit the app again to check on the current location of Justin's phone. A new map popped up indicating that Justin was now on the interstate out in one of the northwestern suburbs of the city - not far from the neighborhood where Justin had grown up, Brian noted. Now, what the fuck was Justin doing out there this time of night?

 

Brian thought about bringing the issue up again with Carl, but the detective was already back over talking with the uniformed cops about what had happened to Michael. As if the cops didn't already have enough on their plate, what with the bombing last night, now there was what appeared to have been an attempted murder involving one of the bombing victims. Brian was sure Carl would just blow off his concerns about Justin again, so why waste the breath.

 

He looked back at the phone and noted that the little arrow indicated Justin's phone was moving along the highway heading back towards the downtown area. Brian would just have to keep tracking the damn thing until he found his missing partner. He didn't care if it took all night. Justin had to stop in one place eventually, right? At least long enough for Brian to catch up to him.

 

Brian tried again to call Justin, but there was no answer and it went to voice mail after ringing through for quite a while. Brian left his standard snarky message - 'Fucking call me, Justin. NOW, you twat!' Then he texted the same message, but got no response either time. Brian would have to wait and watch and see where the phone eventually stopped. And, as soon as it stayed in one place for more than just a couple minutes, Brian would move in.

 

::::::::::::::

 

Time for a little reconnaissance work, Hobbs thought. He opened up Taylor's phone again and pulled up the 'Contacts' list to check the address he wanted. Under the name 'Emmett', Taylor had conveniently listed his friend's phone number, email and home address.

 

The house he was looking for was a modest red brick structure with a large front porch located just a couple blocks off Liberty Avenue. The street was a relatively busy one, there were cars driving through and pedestrians walking by even at this relatively late hour. There was a large, expensive SUV parked in front of the house, looking distinctly out of place in this neighborhood. Inside there were numerous lights on and Hobbs could see shapes moving back and forth in front of the drapery-covered windows.

 

Hobbs decided right away that this place was too busy and there were too many potential witnesses. He wasn't going to be able to take any action against his next target here. He'd have to think about it and come up with a way to lure his victim somewhere much more private. In the meantime, though, he'd watch for a bit and see what he could see, gathering information that he knew he'd find useful eventually.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::

 

Brian watched the map with the traveling locator arrow showing that Justin's phone was still on the move. After about fifteen minutes the arrow finally stopped and remained in one location. Brian looked again at the map and recognized the site, a grin lighting up his face.

 

"Deb's house! Got ya, Sunshine," Brian murmured as he ran out of the hospital towards his car.

 

It took him another quarter of an hour before Brian made it across the bridge and back to the Liberty Avenue area where Deb lived. He'd kept an eye on the GPS map as he drove, happy that Justin's phone hadn't moved. Brian pulled up in front of the house, double parking the Vette, and jumped out of the car. He took the front steps of the house three at a time, pounding loudly at the door as soon as he reached the porch.

 

"Where's Justin?" Brian bellowed as soon as the front door was opened, the loud demand clearly audible even several houses down the block where a silent figure was sitting in a car watching the drama unfold.

 

From his vantage point in his car, Hobbs couldn't hear the response Brian got from the tall lanky man who'd opened the door, but he could tell that whatever had been said was frustrating Kinney. Hobbs could see the two men arguing. Kinney was shoving something he had in his hand into the other man's face.

 

"Look for yourself!" Brian demanded loudly. "See. According to this, Justin's phone has been here for at least the past half hour. I've been tracking him all night. So, if he's here, just tell me, alright. I don't care if he doesn't want to see me, I just want to know he's okay."

 

"Shit!" Hobbs exclaimed as he looked down at Taylor's phone which was sitting on the dashboard of his truck. He quickly grabbed the phone and turned off the power. Then, after searching for a minute in the storage console of the armrest, he pulled out a paper clip and used it to pop out the SIM card from the back of the phone.

 

"Fuck! It's gone!" Brian yelled from the porch across the street, staring without comprehension at the phone he held in his hand.

 

Hobbs watched as the red bewigged woman he'd seen earlier at the hospital came outside and then the boyfriend was hustled into the house, the older man's shoulders now slumped in dejection. As soon as the coast was clear, Hobbs pulled his truck out and drove away from there as quickly as he could. He'd have to be more careful using Taylor's phone. He didn't want to just toss it yet - he thought he was going to need it still to complete his plans.

 

In fact, maybe now that he knew Kinney had been tracking the phone, he could use that little fact to his advantage. . .

 

 


	6. The Pitt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the torture continues. . . . It's kinda fun being so incredibly evil. Only, I'm running out of ideas of evil things for Chris to do. I guess I need to watch more episodes of Dexter. Also, I'm not really a computer geek (ok, well I'm sorta a geek, but won't really admit it) so if I got something wrong about the way the GPS phone tracking software and cell phones work, please don't go all psycho on me. Enjoy! TAG

Chapter 6 - The Pit.

 

Brian hadn't slept all night. For the second night in a row he'd been awake, pacing the floors of the loft or tossing and turning restlessly in the bed when he tried to lie down. The sheer exhaustion of the last few days was clouding his mind and slowing down his thought processes, but the insistent panic roiling his guts wouldn't let him rest. He knew Justin needed him and he was worried that time was running out.

 

As soon as it was daylight, Brian was on the phone again, going the rounds to see if anyone had heard from Justin yet. Each time he heard another 'no' it felt like a knife stabbing into his heart. Nobody had talked to the blond since he'd called Jennifer about eleven pm the night of the bombing. Emmett had received that text asking about Michael the next day but never talked with Justin. After that, the young man seemed to have disappeared, except for the random wanderings of his phone the night before. Now even the mysterious phone had vanished from the tracking maps. Brian was at a loss as to what to do next.

 

After pacing his loft for another ten minutes, ranting and throwing things at random, Brian concluded he needed professional help.

 

"Cynthia. I need the number for the guy that did the security set up for Kinnetik," Brian demanded as soon as his assistant picked up the phone. "What was his name? That's right, 'Mars'. Great. Gimme his number. Thanks."

 

Brian immediately punched the number into his phone. "Mars? This is Brian Kinney from Kinnetik. I've got an emergency situation I need your expertise on. Can you see me this morning? Great. I'll be at your office in one hour."

 

Finally, Brian thought, he'd found someone that might be able to help him find his missing Sunshine.

::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The pit. That's what Hobbs had nicknamed his crappy apartment. It was a studio with a tiny kitchenette and even tinier bathroom in the basement of a run down brick building located next to a highway on ramp just east of downtown. He only had two tiny windows and both were on the north side of the building which meant he never got any actual sunlight through them. The building was infested with cockroaches and always smelled like musty boiled cabbage. Home, sweet home.

 

It was Saturday and Hobbs had the day off, but he didn't sleep in. He tried to spend as little time as possible in the pit. If it wasn't so cold around here in the winter, he'd almost rather live out of his truck. His truck was the only nice thing he still owned. He'd bought it just before he lost his last good job. It was a beautiful, cherry red, king-cab Dodge Ram 1500 with a long bed. He kept it in mint condition.

 

So, as soon as he'd finished his tepid shower and dressed, Hobbs practically raced out of the hovel he reluctantly called home towards his truck. He planned to get some breakfast before he checked on Taylor. Then he'd spend the day tailing his next victim and making a new plan.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

"Okay, there's a couple things you need to know about these phone tracking apps," the big African-American man was explaining to Brian as he pushed buttons on the phone and clicked the mouse on the computer the phone was now hooked up to. "First of all, this software is pretty low tech, relatively speaking. The GPS resolution is pretty low. That means that the maps and locator arrows you get aren't always that accurate. So, for example, last night when you saw on the map that the phone was at your friends' house, it could have actually been anywhere in a block wide radius around there. Which means your boy might have been around the corner in the local coffee shop while you were tearing your hair out just a few yards away.

 

"Great! So, you're saying I might have just missed him by not looking around the fucking corner?" Brian angrily shook his head, pissed off at himself.

 

"Maybe," Mars said, still clicking away at his computer and occasionally glancing at Brian's phone, the beads in his dreads clacking each time his head whipped around. "But, what has me feeling a tad bit skeptical here, though, is the fact that the tracking system lost the signal just as you got close to it. That's pretty fishy."

 

"I don't understand," Brian replied, watching Mars' actions but clearly lost as to what the techie was trying to accomplish. "Can you explain that again in plain English?"

 

"Sure thing, man. See, this system doesn't really track the phone - it actually tracks the SIM card inside the phone. Each SIM card for every phone in the world has a distinct ID code to it. The GPS system latches onto the ID code and uses that to track the phone. Now, even when the phone is turned off, there's always still a little residual power going to the SIM card in order to maintain the phone's basic functions like data storage and other stuff you can't necessarily see. That means that the GPS tracking system should be able to locate the phone even when it's turned off as long as there's any power left in the batteries."

 

"However," Mars went on, "since you said that the tracker quit working suddenly, right after you showed up at the location you thought it was at last night, that leads me to think that someone deliberately pulled the SIM card out of the phone at that point. See, take the SIM card out, no power and no tracking. That's what people who steal cell phones do - they pull out and destroy the SIM cards and then just resell the phone. There's no way to track it then."

 

"So, you think I've just been chasing ghosts, then," Brian sounded defeated. "Somebody must have stolen Justin's phone and . . ."

 

"Now, now, my brother. Don't be so hasty," Mars interrupted Brian, finally finishing with his computer and turning towards the brunet with a crafty little smile. "Don't you find it odd that whoever had the phone didn't pull the SIM card until you got really close? If it was a professional thief, or even just someone with a bit of tech savvy, they would have pulled the SIM card immediately. If your friend just lost the phone and some random guy on the street was walking around using it, why would the phone keep turning up in places your friend would know."

 

"Something here is not right, my friend," Mars said to Brian with a worried look on his kind, dark face. "My guess is that whoever has this phone didn't know you were tracking it. But, then last night, when you got close to finding him or her, that person saw you - maybe was even close enough to hear you say you were tracking the phone - and only then realized their mistake and pulled the SIM card."

 

"Fuck. This makes no sense," Brian complained, slamming his fist against the table in frustration. "If it isn't Justin who has the phone, then why is this person hanging around my family? And how the fuck do I find Justin now if he doesn't have the phone?"

 

"Ah. Well, I may not have all the answers you seek, my friend," Mars said with his lilting Jamaican accent. "But, I've given you some new tools that may help in your search. I've upgraded your tracking software for you. It now has a continuous search function - your phone will continue to search for the missing phone's ID signal even when you're not running the app. If the SIM card is activated again, you'll get an immediate text message. Also, I've added a history function that will keep track of all the locations the phone is used from. You might be able to see some type of pattern or find one location where the phone is used repetitively. Additionally, I loaded another app that will text your phone any time Justin's phone is used to make a call or send a text. Whatever number is dialed from that phone will show up on yours. I hope it all helps."

 

"It can't hurt," Brian replied with a weak smile for the helpful techie. "One more thing, though, I want you to upgrade the security on Justin's apartment for me. Assuming I do find him, he's not going back to that dump unless I know he's going to be safe."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

It was daylight when Justin woke again. His head was still pounding and the light hurt his eyes but his vision had cleared enough that he could look around him a little without getting immediately sick. The first thing he saw was a crumpled, grease-stained brown paper bag sitting upright about six inches from his face in a puddle of drying vomit.

 

The sight and stench were utterly disgusting. Justin tried to move away but he was so weak. It took several minutes of concerted effort to move himself backwards away from the mess about a foot. He would have tried to move further but he felt his back bump up against something solid, hard and cold. He managed to lift up his left arm to try to investigate further, knocking over something standing near his head in the process. The object fortuitously rolled right in front of him and the sight of the plastic water bottle almost made him cry it was so welcome.

 

Justin managed to grapple the bottle to him with his left arm. He was so thirsty it felt like his tongue had turned to leather inside his mouth. But he couldn't seem to make his right hand or arm work correctly to open the bottle. Finally, he managed to wedge the bottle under his body enough to hold it still while he used his left hand to unscrew to cap. He chugged at the water sloppily, spilling almost as much as he managed to swallow, then letting the empty bottle roll away.

 

The effort to get the water had completely worn him out. As soon as his thirst was sated he felt his eyelids drooping again. His last thought as he drifted back to sleep was of his handsome brunet lover, Brian, who he figured he'd never see again.

:::::::::::::::

 

Hobbs was back at the pit after having spent a long frustrating day driving around town following the loudly-dressed fruit named Emmett. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and collapsed on the ratty couch switching on the TV with the remote as he sat. He felt like the whole day had been wasted. He had used up a whole tank of gas, drove around town all day at an exhausting pace and still didn't have a good plan as to how to get his next target.

 

This Emmett was going to be tougher than Hobbs had originally thought. Yeah, he looked like a complete pansy, but Hobbs had watched him working out this morning through the window of the gym and knew that the guy had muscles underneath the flowery print spandex top he'd been wearing. And, even worse, the gregarious little fairy never seemed to be alone. Most of the day he'd even been driven around town in that expensive SUV by some hulk-wanna-be type who looked like he could rip Hobbs' head off without breaking a sweat. No way was Chris gonna take on that guy.

 

So, he had to come up with some way to get the fag off alone. Preferably on a deserted street somewhere. All he needed was bait. In other words, Taylor.

 

Hobbs waited till it was dark before heading back towards Taylor's apartment. He figured if Kinney was still tracking his boyfriend's phone, he could kill two birds with one stone tonight. He'd throw a red herring into Kinney's path at the same time he set up a trap for Emmett.

 

Pulling up his truck in front of Taylor's apartment building, Hobbs pulled out the blond's phone and pushed the SIM card back into place then powered the phone on. As soon as the phone came on, he pulled up the contacts list, selected 'Emmett' and started typing.

 

'Hey! Want 2 get 2gether 4 drinks? I could use a friendly ear.' Hobbs typed then pushed send.

 

'Hey, Babydoll! Where RU? Brian's been looking 4 u all day!' came the almost instant response.

 

'Dont want 2 talk 2 him. We had a fight.' Hobbs texted, thankful that the space limitations of texting would help make his lame excuse seem more reasonable.

 

'Say no more! I'm here 4u! Where do u want 2 meet?' Emmett texted back.

 

'I'm having dinner w/ friends. Will b done in 1/2 hour. Can u pick me up @ 10th & Miller?' Hobbs typed, choosing the address of the job site he'd been working all week, knowing the area would be deserted this late at night.

 

'Peachy! See u soon!' Came the happy reply.

 

Hobbs turned the phone off immediately and quickly pocketed the SIM card before driving off, chuckling to himself at how easy this was going to be.

 

::::::::::::::::::::

 

Brian had been waiting around feeling useless all day. The meeting with Mars had given him some initial hope but that wore off as soon as he realized that there wasn't any more he could do unless and until the tracking program was activated. He'd tried to get some work done at Kinnetik without much success since he was just too tired and distracted to concentrate. He'd given up and gone back to the loft in the early afternoon, finally collapsing into his bed for a couple hours of restless sleep.

 

At the height of another nightmare about losing Justin in the bombing, Brian was gratefully awakened by the ringing of his cell phone. He struggled out of the sheets that had become uncomfortably twisted around him, and managed to reach his phone just before it went to voice mail. He didn't recognize the number of the person calling.

 

"Kinney."

 

"Brian? It's Carl. We got some stuff here at the station we'd like you to look over. Can you come down for a few minutes," Horvath's gruff and concise request came across as straight-forward as the man himself.

 

Yeah. Of course," Brian answered at once. "I'll be there in fifteen."

 

It actually took Brian less than ten minutes to pull on some pants and drive to the precinct just off Liberty Avenue. The desk Sargent said that Horvath was waiting for him and had a cadet take him directly to Carl's desk. Carl smiled and stood up as Brian came into his office, shaking his hand congenially.

 

"Thanks for coming down, Brian," Carl said, indicating with his hand that Brian should sit. "We've got some of the preliminary reports back from forensics and I wanted to get your take on some of it."

 

Carl proceeded to go through the stacks of data with Brian who was amazed at how much the cops had managed to learn in such a short time. It turned out that the bomb itself had been hidden under the far edge of the bar, probably secured there with the duct tape the cops had found pieces of. All of the bomb components were ordinary items that could be found at any hardware store. According to their experts it was a pretty amateurish job overall. The plastic explosives were the kind used on a lot of construction sites - the cops were still tracking leads on that aspect but didn't have anything solid.

 

What Carl really wanted Brian's help with was the preliminary fingerprint report. Forensics had recovered several hundreds of fingerprints from the club, which wasn't all that surprising considering the type of venue. The bomb itself didn't seem to have any usable prints - at least not the parts they'd recovered yet, although the police were far from being finished with the crime scene.

 

To start with they'd only run those prints found on or around what was left of the bar. Even that small sampling gave a report identifying at least two hundred separate individuals. About fifty of the prints matched to people already in the City's criminal database - mostly minor offenders. Rather than going off half cocked and trying to track down all fifty, Carl was hoping Brian might recognize some of the names.

 

Brian scanned through the report, not sure what he was supposed to be looking for. He did recognize a few of the names, but other than the fact that they were regulars at the nightclub, it didn't seem all that relevant. He didn't think anyone who frequented a gay dance club, especially those seen often in the backroom of a gay club, were likely to be blowing up that same club.

 

Then, near the bottom of the second page of the report, one name jumped out at him. Christopher Mark Hobbs. That was one name that certainly didn't belong. It was not a person who'd be likely to frequent any gay club and definitely wasn't a person you'd expect to be supporting the 'Stop Prop 14' campaign. What the fuck had Chris Hobbs been doing at Babylon?

 

"Chris Hobbs!" Brian shouted, jumping out of his seat and shoving the report in Carl's face. "Fucking Chris Hobbs!"

 

Carl stared back uncomprehendingly at a clearly agitated Brian. Horvath hadn't been around Liberty Avenue back when that name had made a significant impact on the lives of Brian, his family and the other denizens of the area. The detective didn't recognize the name Chris Hobbs or why it seemed so important to Brian.

 

"Hobbs was the monster that bashed Justin at his Prom. He's a total homophobe not to mention that if I ever saw the guy at my club I'd kill him on the spot. There's no way he'd be at Babylon except to cause trouble. That's your fucking suspect right there," Brian insisted, stabbing his finger at the name on the report repeatedly.

 

"Okay. Okay. Take it easy, Brian. Let me look at this a sec," Carl said pulling the report towards him and then typing some info into his computer. "It looks like Hobbs' parole period was up about six months ago. We've got an address for him from back then and employment info. This guy shouldn't be too tough to locate. I'll send a squad car out to pick him up right away. But just calm down in the meantime, alright. His fingerprints alone won't prove he did anything. It is a bar that's open to the general public - even homophobes have a legitimate excuse for being there."

 

"There's no way this guy had a reason to be in my bar other than to hurt someone, Carl," Brian asserted. "Hobbs hates Justin and me. He even threatened Justin once after the trial. He's got to know something."

 

"I'll take care of it Brian. Don't worry. We'll find this guy and question him and, if his story doesn't hold up, we'll know." Carl tried to calm the agitated man, putting an arm around Brian's shoulders as he walked him out of the office. Just as he was turning to go back to his office, Carl remembered to ask, "Say, did Justin ever turn up yesterday?"

 

"No. I still haven't heard from him," Brian admitted, biting his lip to stop himself from showing the extent of his concern.

 

"Shit," Carl exclaimed. "If he still hasn't shown up after 72 hours you can file a missing person report on him. I hope that isn't necessary, though."

 

"Me too, Carl. Me too."

 

Brian started for the parking lot next to the police station and turned his phone on as he walked. As soon as the power was on it started to vibrate indicating he had messages waiting. He stopped in the middle of the parking lot to look at the small screen. Fuck! While he'd been in with Carl he'd got two text messages. The first was from the phone tracking service showing that Justin's phone had been traced and the second was a text showing the phone number that had been dialed on the phone.

 

Brian quickly activated the tracking app and stared at the GPS map that popped up. It clearly showed that the phone had been used by someone at Justin's apartment approximately a half hour ago. Maybe the annoying little twat was back? Brian tried dialing Justin's number but was shunted immediately to a pre-recorded message saying that Justin's line was out of service at the current time.

 

Next he dialed the number that Justin's phone had last dialed. That number rang through to Emmett's voicemail. Damn it, thought Brian, where the fuck is everybody. He quickly dialed Debbie's landline and waited impatiently for at least ten rings before someone answered.

 

"Hello," rang out Debbie's always cheerful voice.

 

"Deb, where's Emmett?" Brian chuffed out before the last 'o' of hello had even made it out of Deb's mouth.

 

"Well, hello to you too, Brian," Debbie groused at the abrupt greeting. "I think Em's gone out for the night. He was going to meet someone for drinks I think. Why, honey?"

 

"Where is he. I have to talk to him right now," Brian demanded without any explanation.

 

"I told you I don't know where he went, asshole," Deb retorted. "Hold on a sec, though. Maybe Drew knows something."

 

In the background Brian could hear Debbie yelling into the front room. 'Drew, sweetie, did Emmett say where he was headed?' After a minute there was a low rumbling reply and Deb answered, 'thanks, dear.'

 

"Brian, Drew said he was going to meet Sunshine for drinks. Did you guys have another fight? Em said that Justin was upset and needed to talk to a friend so he told Drew he'd better go alone."

 

"Debbie, what is Drew Boyd doing alone with you at your house," Brian couldn't help but ask, momentarily distracted from his main quest.

 

"We're watching an old Bette Middler flic on AMC. What's it to you?" Deb demanded.

 

"Whatever," Brian said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in wonder at the way Debbie seemed to become the surrogate mother to every gay boy she met, now including in that number the quarterback for the Pittsburgh Ironmen. "And, no, Justin and I didn't have any fight. I've been trying to find him for two days now. I haven't even talked to him since Babylon. Can you please ask Drew If he knows where the two of them were heading?"

 

After a bit more yelling and mumbling Deb came back on the line. "Sorry, Brian. Em didn't say. He only told Drew he was picking Justin up and then they were going out for drinks. Sorry I don't know more. I'll tell Em to call you as soon as he gets home, though. Okay?"

 

Brian hung up the phone without another word. He rubbed at his face then pinched the bridge of his nose to try and ward off the headache that was threatening to erupt behind his tired eyes. His reverie was disturbed by a car honking at him to get him to move out of the way. He looked up, noted he was still standing in the middle of the lane of the parking lot and slowly moved away towards his waiting car.

 

Brian got into his car and then just stopped. He had no idea what to do or where to go next. He'd run out of ideas and was quickly running out of hope. Brian let his head rest against the steering wheel while two tears ran silently down his cheeks.

 

"Where the fuck are you, sunshine," the strong man sobbed in despair.

 

::::::::::::::::::::

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, any predictions out there on what's going to happen to Emmett? He he he (evil laughter as the author skulks away)! TAG
> 
> PS. Justin will NOT be dying in this story so please don't get too worried. I could never kill off one of our boys - at least not permanently. I just like to torture them a little.


	7. The Daily Grind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next installment for you. I probably should post a warming for mild descriptions of near naked women - boring and slightly icky, I know - but necessary for plot development so you'll have to deal with it. Maybe that's why I had a touch of writer's block on this chapter? Writing descriptions of breasts was a bit of a turn off to say the least. Let's hope it never happens again. Enjoy! TAG

Chapter 7 - The Daily Grind.

Brian had only just got to sleep when his phone started ringing. The alarm clock on the bedside table said it was two am. He grabbed his phone and hit the button to answer the call, noting with dread that it was Deb calling. He feared that something else had happened to Michael. Still he answered the call.

"Deb, what's wrong?" Brian growled into the cell phone.

"They found Emmett," Debbie sobbed into the phone. "He was mugged and left for dead. The hospital called Ted - he's still Em's primary emergency contact. Ted's at the hospital already. Carl got called into the station earlier. Can you come pick me up, Brian?"

"Shit. I'm on my way!" Brian said curtly then slammed the phone back onto the nightstand and jumped out of bed, pulling on the first pair of pants he found.

An hour later, Brian, Debbie, Drew and Ted sat together in the ER waiting room at Allegheny General Hospital. For Brian and Deb it was their third night at the hospital in as many days and the strain was getting to be too much. Both looked worn out and Deb, in particular, was starting to show her years.

A uniformed police officer approached the group politely and nodded to Debbie who was snoozing on Ted's shoulder. Ted shrugged, jarring the older woman's head and knocking her wig askew slightly. Deb blinked up at the tall stocky officer only half awake.

"Ms. Novotny?" the young policeman asked, smiling at Debbie's small nod. "I'm Robert Winston. Detective Horvath sent me down here to see about what was going on and make sure you were okay. I've already taken a statement from the ER doctors. It looks like your friend was mugged and then his body dumped down a sewer access tunnel that was open due to construction."

"He's lucky that some homeless guy who was sleeping under a loading dock down there saw what happened and called the police. He gave the EMT's a partial description on the perp but the homeless guy was half drunk and pretty far away when it happened. It doesn't look good for catching the guy unless your friend can give us more when he wakes up."

"Why is this happening?" Debbie moaned and turned to bury her head into Brian's strong shoulder.

"The doctors still haven't told us anything about Em's condition," Ted complained. "Did you get any update?"

"I'm sorry, but you're better off talking to the doctor directly about that," Officer Winston advised. "Here's my card though. Please call me when he wakes up so I can take his statement."

The officer took his leave and Ted bustled off, waiving Em's Power of Attorney in his hand, to try and get some word from the doctors. The others sat back down again. Ted came back a few minutes later with a loopy grin on his face.

"He's going to be alright, they think," Ted practically crowed. "He's got a dislocated shoulder and a broken collar bone. He also has a nasty gash on the back of his head but the skull wasn't damaged and there's no swelling. Thank god that boy has such a thick head. They're moving him to a room right now and we should be allowed to see him as soon as he's settled."

Debbie mumbled, "Thank you, Lord," and crossed herself. Drew looked angry and only slightly relieved. Brian slumped back into his chair, covering his eyes with one hand to hide any sign of the strong emotions he was feeling. Which left Ted standing alone in the center of the waiting room with a relieved smile.  
:::::::::::::::::

Justin awoke to the clank of metal and the feeling of something cold and solid bumping against his back. His head was still pounding but his vision had cleared tremendously. He was still lying on his right side on the floor. He managed to move his head enough to look over his left shoulder towards the ceiling. Even that tiny motion of his head made him dizzy, but he clenched his eyes closed tightly and breathed deeply until the spinning sensation stopped. Then he carefully opened his eyes again.

The cold solid thing behind him appeared to be a metal gate of some kind. Justin couldn't see much beyond the wire mesh grating. He heard movements though, the sounds still distorted and echoing, almost as if there were empty spaces inside his head where the sounds were bouncing around without obstruction. He was too weak to keep his head up for long and had to let it fall back to rest again on the cold floor.

When the world stopped spinning, he opened his eyes again, scanning the area in front of him. There was a new bottle of water along with a new grease-stained paper bag. The old bag that had been soaking in the puddle of vomit had been removed, although the rest of the mess was still there.

He was trying to work up the energy to reach for the new water bottle when he heard another clanking noise and the solid metal at his back disappeared momentarily. He was too slow to react to turn and find out what was going on. He felt something soft fall onto his shoulder and partially onto his face. He could see an edge of something blue.

"You had to fucking puke on the sweatshirt, didn't you," a disembodied voice said from behind him, the words strangely elongated as if they were part of a recording played at the wrong speed. "This thing reeks. It worked, though. Your fairy friend, Emmett, thought I was you. He, he, he. He let me just walk right up to him. Then I bashed his brains out with the tire iron and dumped him in a hole in the ground. He, he, he."

The too-slow echoing laughter went on and on. It was like a bad horror movie with the world spinning and the eerie laughter beating at him, seemingly from all sides. Justin tried to concentrate solely on his own breathing to block out all the noise. The words being made by whoever was talking went on for a long time, but he ignored them. Eventually the words and laughter stopped and the lights were switched off. The peaceful silence was a balm to his frazzled nerves, allowing him to finally relax.

After several minutes Justin pulled off the item that had been dropped on his shoulder. It turned out to be his sweatshirt. He realized then that he was cold but there was no way he could manage to get the sweatshirt back on. Instead he waded it up and stuffed it under his head, relieving some of the strain on his neck.

Then, taking another deep breath to ready himself, he reached out for the water bottle which was standing about a foot and a half away. He was able to grip it and pull it over but his right arm still wasn't functioning. He again managed to wedge the bottle beneath his body and twist the cap off with his left hand. This time he carefully laid the cap on the ground. Then he tipped the bottle so he could drink without spilling too badly. After drinking about half, he set the bottle down and put the cap back on, saving the rest for later.

Now that his immediate needs had been taken care of, Justin tried to focus on what he should be doing next. He couldn't remember how long he'd been in this place or even how he got here. In fact, he had no idea where 'here' was.

The room he was in, or at least what he could see of it from where he was lying, was about ten foot square. It was night again so he couldn't see much, but there was enough ambient light to see that the walls were unfinished concrete blocks and the floor he'd been lying on was rough poured cement. There was metal shelving lining the entire left-hand wall and the shelves were filled with odd shaped items but in the darkness he couldn't really tell what it all was. The right hand wall had the same type of shelving at the far end. Nearer to where he was, there were cardboard boxes piled against the wall and on top were what appeared to be several bulging canvas tote bags stacked precariously. There was a small window on the right which was partially blocked by the shelves. Justin could see a street light shining through the part of the window that was visible. The window had leaked at some point, a rusty water stain dripping down the wall from the corner of the window sill. Everything was dusty, including the air, except for the floor which seemed slightly damp.

The room seemed somehow familiar but he didn't know why. He didn't think he was strong enough to investigate the shelves. He'd been staying awake for longer periods of time, which he hoped meant he was getting better. But it would likely be a long time before he'd feel up to scrounging around through the equipment being stored in the room.

That brought into question what exactly had happened to him and why he was lying here obviously hurt. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten hurt. He actually couldn't remember much at all. Justin tried to focus on the last thing he did remember clearly before he woke up in this room.

It seemed difficult to think clearly. Everything was hazy and his memories seemed mixed up. He thought he remembered a fire? There were ambulances and fire trucks. And he remembered kissing Brian.

That was a good memory. He was getting tired again and the more he tried to remember, the worse his head hurt. But thinking about Brian didn't hurt. Thinking about Brian helped stave off the fear and panic. So, Justin concentrated only on Brian and slowly his body relaxed, letting him drift off into sleep once again.  
:::::::::::::::::

It was after two before Hobbs left the cage. He had stopped by primarily to get rid of the bloodstained clothing he was wearing and clean up. He didn't want anything like that back at his apartment. As an added bonus, Taylor had been awake and it had been fun to torment him with the news about how Hobbs had taken out his big old flaming friend.

He was too elated to head back to his apartment, though. He was still on the adrenaline high he'd got from finally taking out one of those disgusting fags. He felt so fucking powerful. No way was he ready to head back to the pit now. He wanted to go out and celebrate. He wanted to drink and party like he used to in the good old days before Taylor.

It had been a while since he'd been out to any bars or clubs just for fun. He didn't want to go back to any of the old dives he used to haunt, either. He felt good. He was excited. It was time to try something new.

Hobbs decided to try a new place he'd overheard some of the guys at work talking about. It was a strip club called 'The Daily Grind'. The guys said the chicks there were super hot and plenty easy. Chris decided that he'd treat himself to a lap dance, have a few beers and then see if he could talk any of those easy chicks into coming home with him.

The parking lot at the strip club was full. He had to park in the farthest corner of the lot. The whole area was poorly lit except for the flashing neon signs advertising 'Girls, Girls, Girls' and 'Live Nudes'. The structure itself seemed badly maintained - pieces of trim were falling off the roof in the rear, one rain gutter was rusted through and dripping, and the cement of the parking lot was cracked and uneven.

Chris Hobbs maneuvered around the ragged rows of parked cars and made it to the front door. The burly bouncer checked his ID and took his ten bucks for the cover charge. The interior was just as dimly lit as the exterior. He made his way to a table along the far side of the room where the brighter lights from the stage spilled over onto the floor. Hobbs seated himself on the wobbly caned-backed chair and signaled to the nearby waitress.

The petite brunette waitress wearing stiletto heels, skimpy white satin shorts and a lacy lavender bra, cruised over to his table. She batted her long false eyelashes at him and, in a seductive voice, asked him what he was drinking. Hobbs barely noticed the waitress though, his attention was diverted by the long-legged redhead currently up on the stage, writhing against the stripper pole and clad only in a black leather thong. Distractedly, he ordered a beer from the waitress while ogling the entertainment on the stage as the dancer finished her number amid a musical flourish and then flounced off stage to a smattering of applause.

Hobbs was already sipping at his cold bottle of beer before the next act came on. The speakers started blaring out the pounding beat of Gary Glitter's classic 1972 hit, Rock 'n' Roll - Part 2. The spotlight shone on the curtained stage entrance where a tanned blonde with short cropped, spiked and glittering hair came strutting out wearing a sheer nylon camisole top and matching, lace-up booty shorts in the Pittsburgh Ironmen colors. The dancer had black stripes of makeup smeared under each eye and was carrying a football helmet which she proceeded to grind against, using the prop to bring to mind the ultimate 'fantasy football' dream of most hetero men.

Hobbs slammed back his beer and ordered another while he watched the blonde gyrate around on the stage. The woman was on the petite side with fewer curves than most of the strippers you'd see in this kind of joint. She didn't have the type of gravity defying breasts that a lot of the women boasted, which Hobbs had always found to be such a turn off. This woman, especially with her short hair and football costume, was almost boyish. Hobbs found her very arousing.

He chugged his second beer and watched the blonde wiggle around the stage to the pounding beat of the music. She flounced in his direction and smiled seductively down at him, bending over to place the helmet on the stage with her ass pumping provocatively into the air. As she stood up, rolling her spine slowly vertebra by vertebra, her hands trailed over her body, caressing her own thighs, hips, stomach and breasts.

Hobbs stared, mesmerized by the display. He barely took his eyes off the football chick as he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and extracted some ones. With the bills in his hand, Chris stood up and reached towards the sparkling pale skinned beauty and promptly slid them into the waistband of the girl's shorts. She glowed at him appreciatively for a moment or two before backing away and moving on to work the next guy sitting a couple chairs away from Hobbs.

At the end of the song, the girl took her bows and backed off stage, blowing kisses to her admiring, if mostly inebriated, fans. "Let's hear it for Jurissa," said the slovenly looking emcee who waved the blonde off stage and told a few lameassed jokes before ushering on the next act.

Chris didn't wait to hear the weak jokes or see the next jiggling hussy. As soon as the football girl was through the stage curtain, he got up and headed around to the far side of the stage where there was an open doorway topped by a glowing neon sign advertising more "XXX" entertainment inside. Hobbs approached the skanky, too-thin, too-old bottle-blonde standing beside a small hostess podium just inside the archway. Behind her, the ill lit corridor was lined on both sides with closed doors. Thin muffled moans accompanied by muted music escaped through the cracks around the doors.

"What can I do you for, honey?" asked the skank as Hobbs neared.

"I want the football chick," Chris stated plainly.

"Fifty bucks per lap dance," said the uninterested woman in a tired, raspy voice. "No touching the merchandise, fifteen minutes max."

Hobbs plunked down the fifty dollars on the top of the podium. "Right this way, sugar," the woman responded and led him to a door on the left opening onto a small cubicle. "I'll send Jurissa right in for you. You just sit tight, tiger."

Hobbs entered the small room and sat on the padded seat of the solitary metal chair in the center. The room was lit with a single black light bulb, making it tough to see anything else except that the room was bare, dingy and the paint on the walls was peeling. He might as well get ready, he thought, closing his eyes as he unzipped his pants and began rubbing himself through his cotton briefs, trying to concentrate on the image of the girl in the skimpy football costume.

When the girl came into the room a few minutes later, he wasn't even fully hard yet. She didn't even look at him as she bustled into the room, placed a portable CD player on the floor near the door and pressed the 'play' switch. When she finally did turn towards him, he saw that the black light made the lacings on her shorts and the lettering on the 'jersey' glow brightly white. The chick immediately started to swing her hips to the music, touching herself and pouting in her client's direction but never making actual eye contact.

"So, baby, tell me what you like," the girl said, her voice high with a nasally whistle that instantly grated on Hobbs' nerves and caused his already soft dick to deflate even more.

"Just shut the fuck up and dance," Hobbs growled at the girl, his vehement tone finally getting her full attention, a hint of fear flitting across her countenance.

The girl did as she'd been asked though. She didn't say anything further, she just moved a step or two closer to the seated man and started to grind her hips against his torso. She ran her fingers through his thin sandy hair and trailed her fingertips across his stubbly cheek. Then she bent over, her smallish breasts hovering millimeters away from Hobbs' face, shaking her tits at him and trying to provoke some reaction from the staring, unmoving man.

After several minutes of this, still without any noticeable reaction from the client, the woman moved back a step and started to squat down between his legs.

"Turn around," Chris ordered brusquely before the twat's face could get anywhere close to his crotch.

The blonde did as directed and sashayed her backside around till her ass was shaking practically in Chris' face. The man leaned back, squinted his eyes almost closed and finally a smile curled up the corners of his thin lips. The dancer rolled her eyes and huffed a quiet little laugh to herself, only now understanding what was up with her difficult client.

Hobbs watched the slim hips undulating in front of him. With his eyes half closed he could block out the room and everything else around him, focusing only on the plump round ass cheeks, the sparkling alabaster skin and the shock of white blond hair glowing under the black light. He freed his dick from the confines of his briefs and started pulling on it with gusto. At last he was hard, aroused and in control.

Hobbs imagined long nimble fingers gripping his rigid cock, stroking him with the perfect amount of pressure. He could feel the blood pumping to his dick, his skin heating up and that delicious warmth spreading through his balls and up his spine. He remembered the feel of a warm, strong body next to him. He could almost smell the dust and sweat of a hot autumn afternoon topped with a whiff of Bay Rum aftershave lotion.

Hobbs peeked again at the lithe hips waving just out of his reach. The sight triggered a fantasy image of his dick sliding between two firm, pale globes of flesh, with a flash of bright crystal blue eyes and the glint of shining blond hair. The mental picture was so vivid, so clear, it jolted through him like a bolt of lightening, igniting every nerve ending in his body and causing his muscles to spasm as he shot long streams of jizz into his hand. As the final shudders of his orgasm rocked through him, Hobbs involuntarily groaned out the name of his fantasy lover.

The dancer, who by this point had realized her presence wasn't really needed any longer and who was just standing there waiting till the inevitable conclusion, thought at first that she might have been wrong. When the man started to yell out a name, she briefly thought maybe he was actually fantasizing about her after all.

"J-J-Justin," the man cried at the height of his passion.

Nope. The dancer knew she'd pegged this guy right. She hated dancing for the closet fags. They were lousy tippers. She knew better than to waste any further time on this hopeless case. She picked up the CD player, hit the pause button and walked out of the room without a backwards glance.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, any guesses yet on where Justin is being held? Diehard QAF fans should recognize the locale if I've done my job as an author well enough. If you guess right I'll dedicate the next chapter to you! TAG


	8. The Stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian is getting wise to what is going on . . . finally. He's about to become more proactive. But, is it too late? What will be the fallout from Hobbs' failed little outing to The Daily Grind? You'll have to read on to find out. Enjoy! TAG
> 
> ****Chapter dedicated to the ever-observant Jazzepoet - within less than a half-hour after I originally posted the last chapter dear JP had already reviewed AND correctly guessed the location of the Cage where Justin's being held. I'm not sure if that means I did an adequate job describing the setting or if JP is just an obsessive QAF fan? Thanks for being so into my story, though, JP.****

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Chapter 8 - The Stands.

Brian walked out through the main hospital doors at a little past seven am. As soon as he was on the sidewalk he pulled out the pack of cigarettes he had in his coat pocket and his lighter, flipped a cig into his mouth and lit up. The feel of the slightly acrid smoke filling his lungs was instantly calming. He took repeated puffs as he shuffled slowly towards the parking garage, stubbing out what was left under his boot heel when he eventually reached his car.

Brian was so tired that he wasn't sure that he could manage the ten minute drive back to the loft. He slouched in the driver's seat, letting his head fall forward against the steering wheel. He only meant to rest his eyes briefly, but within seconds, he was fast asleep.

The vibrating against his hip from the cell phone in his jeans' pocket woke him with a start. With a sigh he leaned back and pulled the phone out, flipping it open and pressing the button to answer the call without looking at the ID. He pinched the bridge of his nose at the same time to try and quell the incipient headache he could feel coming on.

"Kinney," he mumbled into the phone, noting by the dashboard clock that it was almost eight am already.

"It's Horvath," the gruff voice of the detective answered. "We've come up on a problem, Brian. I can't seem to locate that suspect you suggested we check out."

"You mean Hobbs? Why not? I thought you said you had his address and shit," Brian demanded, the worry he'd been just barely suppressing for days now making his voice sound even more strident than usual.

"Well, it seems this Hobbs guy moved out of his old apartment right after his parole ended and didn't leave any forwarding address. And, the job info we had was bogus too. He was fired from that job a few months even before he moved," Carl confessed.

"Fucker!" Brian exclaimed. "What about his family? He used to go to school with Justin. You should be able to track him that way,"

"Nope. Already tried that," Carl confirmed. "His parents claim they haven't had any contact with him in almost a year. They didn't act like they were lying, but, well, you never can tell . . ."

"Shit, Carl! I have a bad feeling about this," Brian responded with a stab of anxiety to his gut. "First the bombing, then Justin goes missing and now you can't find Hobbs. . . "

"Any word from the kid?" Horvath asked, his failure to negate Brian's chain of logic only adding to the worried man's sense of panic.

"No. Nothing. No one's actually talked to Justin since Thursday night. Except for a couple of suspicious text messages that Emmett got, nobody's even heard from him."

"We'll, I'm headed over to get a statement from Honeycutt about that mugging next thing," Carl assured the younger man he'd come to see almost as a son. "I'll ask about the texts while I'm there. I've also got a couple of uniforms still checking some other leads on Hobbs, but in the meantime, if you have any ideas or if you hear from Taylor, let me know. Okay?"

"I was just in with Emmett less than an hour ago, Carl. He's got a concussion and was still pretty groggy. I don't know how much help he'll be."

"Shit. Well, maybe by the time I get there he'll be in a little better shape and will have remembered something useful. I have to get a statement from him anyway."

"I'm still at the hospital, Carl," Brian replied with a heavy sigh of exhaustion. "Mind if I sit in on your interview with Emmy Lou? I have a couple of questions of my own about those texts."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

The sun was just coming over the bleak winter horizon as Hobbs trudged up to the highest tier of seats in the empty bleachers, his steps ringing hollowly on the aluminum risers. It was fucking frigid outside today. The sleet and rain of the past few days had finally blown over and without the cloud cover holding in some of the residual warmth from the ground, it was even colder out this morning than it had been last night. The weak sunlight shining down on him seemed to give no heat whatsoever. Hobbs didn't really mind the numbing cold though. The cold outside matched the dead, numb feeling inside him this morning.

He was fucked! So totally and completely fucked! He'd turned into one of the freaks. It didn't matter how hard he fought it, those thoughts kept surfacing. He'd tried to block them out with booze and sex, drugs, porn, strippers, hookers, everything. Nothing worked. Now it seemed he couldn't even get off to the sight of a hot blonde dancer without Taylor taking over his mind.

His humiliation was now complete. Up till now he'd managed to hide these unclean thoughts away from the rest of the world. Hobbs had never let anyone else see that side of him. His friends and family might have teased him but he'd always denied everything. He'd never allowed anyone to see the truth.

But now that stripper knew. He hadn't even realized that he'd blurted out HIS name until he noted the dancer's demeaning look as she practically ran from the room. He'd zipped his pants up quickly and stumbled out of the club, trying to ignore the snide giggles from the football blonde who was whispering to the bouncer as he made his way towards the exit.

He'd felt like every one of the patrons and staff were watching him and laughing at him as he left. What had the bitch done, made a fucking announcement as soon as she scurried out of the room? Goddamned fucking bitch. She was a fucking stripper - she had no business judging him when she was just a glorified whore. But no matter how low she was, he felt lower still. She knew about him now. She had all the power now and he had none.

Chris hadn't wanted to go back to the Pit after his celebratory night at The Daily Grind had turned into just another shameful memory.  
He'd spent the rest of the night just driving aimlessly around town, ending up at a greasy all-night diner around four thirty. When the crusty grey-haired waitress had started giving him the evil eye an hour and a half later, he figured he could no longer continue to sip at his fourth cup of coffee without getting booted. He got back into his truck and started driving again. But no matter how far he drove he couldn't outrun his degradation.

Somehow, without intending to, he'd ended up back here. At first Hobbs had thought briefly about going back to the cage and taking out his frustrations on Taylor, since that faggot was the cause of everything. But something had caused him to detour here instead - to his old high school football field.

He'd spent a lot of hours in this very spot over the years. This had been where Chris had liked to sit whenever he was waiting for practice to start or anytime they'd had breaks during the countless hours of training each football season. When the weather was nice, he and his friends had eaten lunch sitting out here. He'd hung out after school here, made out with various cheerleaders in these stands, even done his homework sitting here. He couldn't even count the number of days, hours, and minutes he'd sat in these stands over his lifetime. Sitting here again was comforting and familiar.

Looking back, he couldn't remember even one time when he'd been unhappy while sitting here. Hobbs had put in four wonderful years on the St. James' football team. It had been hard work sometimes, but he had thrived in that atmosphere. He'd started off as a skinny, uncoordinated freshman and ended up as the starting quarterback by halfway through his Junior year. This had been his kingdom. He had practically ruled this school by his Senior year. And if he'd been the King and the school his court, then these bleachers would have to be counted as his throne.

Even after he'd graduated, he sometimes still came back to watch the team play - always sitting in this row of the bleachers. The coaches still greeted him fondly and would reminisce about the year they'd won the State Championship in their division - an incredible achievement for a small private school like St. James' Academy. When he was sitting here watching a game amid the crowds of alumni, students and parents, he could forget about his failures, at least for a few minutes.

"Chris fucking Hobbs?" a familiar voice hollered from the foot of the grandstands. "It is you! You old dog. What the hell are you doing back here at St. James?"

"Trey Anderson?" Hobbs shouted back with a grin as he recognized his former teammate. "Wassup, Dude? What brings you back to the old alma mater?"

The tall, slim dark-haired man climbing up the bleachers smiled welcomingly as he neared where Hobbs was seated. "I'm interning as a student teacher here now. I'll be getting my B.A. in Math Education in June from Carnegie Mellon. I just have to survive the rest of this semester working as old man Dillon's classroom slave."

"You're gonna be a math teacher?" Hobbs kidded his buddy with a mock punch to the man's shoulder as the newcomer sat down on the bench next to him. "Didn't you fail Algebra II our sophomore year and have to retake it over the summer? How the hell are you gonna teach that shit when you hated it?"

"Yeah, well, it turns out I don't hate math, just math teachers," the passionate, young soon-to-be teacher propounded. "Most old school math teachers are just plain shitty at being educators. Dillon's a prime example of that type - brilliant at math, maybe, but doesn't know shit about how to teach the subject. He thinks once the kid's memorized the multiplication tables it should all just be intuitive after that and he can just jump right into calculus proofs. The program I'm in now teaches you HOW to teach math so it's fun for the kids."

"Fuck that," Hobbs groused. "You'd have to be fucking brilliant to make that shit 'fun', man."

"Let's just hope I can save legions of future sophomores from having to deal with repeating Algebra II in summer school. That was the longest goddamned summer of my life," Trey laughingly replied. "But, I had a lot of incentive to pass the class since my dad threatened not to let me go out for football that fall if I didn't."

"Good thing you did, too," Chris grinned back at his buddy. "What would I have done without my favorite wide-receiver? Nobody else in the Division was half as fast as you. I needed you to catch the winning pass that clinched the Championship for us that year."

"Shit, that was a great game, wasn't it?"

"Hell yeah! We were great together," Hobbs reminisced in an enthusiastic good-old-boy voice. "So, are you still playing ball?”

“No way, man,” Trey huffed. “I might have been fast enough for a high school wide-receiver in a small division, but no way was I fast enough to keep up with the big boys in the college leagues. Besides, I couldn’t rest on my laurels as a high school football star forever, could I? I mean, we all had to grow up and move on eventually, right?”

Hobbs didn’t reply to this joking cliche and the conversation died for a few moments as the two men stared out across the deserted playing field in silence. Out of the corner of his eye, the newcomer could see Hobbs frowning. Struggling to fill the silent void, Trey thought he’d try a different tack.

“So, what are you up to these days? You were headed off to Arizona right? How did that turn out? I never did get to say goodbye to you after graduation because of all that shit with Taylor. . . . .” The glare that the scowling blond man shot him killed off this line of discussion as well, and caused the conversation to lag once again.

“Um. . . . So, I hear we’ll be working together a bit,” Trey tried again to initiate conversation. “I heard you’re working as an assistant coach with the Junior Varsity team. I’m going to be working special teams with Coach Ryerson. I get additional credit for it towards my teaching certificate. So, uh. . . when practices start up again in April we’ll be hanging out together a lot, I guess. . . . Well, I better be going I suppose. Dillon has me working on this project I need to get ready for tomorrow’s class and I’ve got plans with my girlfriend later today so I need to get started. . . . . So, see you later, dude.”

Since Hobbs wasn’t doing much more than sit there and glare, Trey decided to give up on the attempt to chat. The tall trim man levered himself off the cold bench and started to clomp back down the stands, heading towards the back of the St. James’ school buildings. He looked back once but all he saw was an angry, sour faced, slightly pudgy former jock still sitting on the bench above him. The character he saw no longer resembled the man who was once his friend and the star quarterback of the high school football team with a glorious future ahead of him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Warm, soft lips. Cinnamon scented breath. Whisper light kisses trailing down his neck. Large, tenderly caressing hands roaming down the exposed skin of his shoulders and arms. He could still feel little electrical tingles on every millimeter of skin where those hands and lips had touched.

Brian.

He was safe. Brian was there and would protect him. The all-encompassing feelings of caring and safety suffused his being, chasing away lingering worries, the pain and the fear of the unknown. As long as he had Brian, he would be okay.

*Slam* Justin is jerked awake, torn out of the comforting arms of his dream by the noise of a door slamming. Loud footsteps approached where he'd been lying and then, after some clicking and clanking, the metal grating he'd been resting against disappeared. The sounds are still overly loud and distorted but coming through slightly clearer than before, despite the ongoing ringing in his ears.

His body automatically rolled backwards as the support behind him was removed. It was daylight now and the few dim dusty windows allowed in enough light that he could finally see a little more of what was around him. Then, as he rolled, a shaft of light beaming down into his face from the window behind caused him to squint and blink until his eyes could accommodate the new brightness. The sudden blinding light reminded him of the throbbing pain in his head and Justin groaned loudly.

He wasn't left to peacefully contemplate his aching head for long though. A shadow moved rapidly to block out the beam of bright sunlight. Justin opened his eyes wide but could only see a hulking dark shape haloed by the sun. He was just opening his mouth to ask the unknown figure for help when his world exploded with fresh stabs of pain as the stranger kicked him violently and repeatedly in the lower back, legs and shoulders.

The agony filled young man was too weak to fight off this new attack. All he could do was to curl up into a tight little ball, covering his face with his left arm as best he could, and wait it out. Luckily his already overloaded senses quickly blocked out the sharp new pains. The blows soon became duller and his body felt numb. The light began to get fuzzy around the edges and the room began to fade.

His sense of hearing lasted longer than his other senses though. Long after he could no longer feel the pain or see the dingy room, he could still hear a loud voice wailing in contorted tones. It sounded like the words were being muted and the syllables drawn out too long, but somehow he could still understand their meaning.

"Why? Why, you goddamned faggot son of a bitch. Why did you do this to me? You've ruined everything. You ruined ME! Why? Why? Why . . ."

:::::::::::::::::

 

"I'm sorry, guys, but that's all I remember," Emmett repeated for the third time as Detective Horvath took notes and Brian looked on from a chair in the far corner of the hospital room. "I drove up to the address that Justin texted me. I saw him walking down the path towards my car. I got out to run around to the passenger side so I could move some shopping bags that I'd left on the front seat and . . . That's all there is. Next thing I knew I woke up here with Debbie crooning over me. I never even saw the person who hit me."

So far Horvath had been asking all the questions, but suddenly Brian piped up from his corner. "How do you know it was Justin?"

"What do you mean, Brian?" Emmett countered, his confusion clear on what you could see of his bandaged countenance. "I saw him. He was standing on the porch of the house at that address and when I stopped the car he started walking towards me."

"Are you sure it was Justin that you saw walking towards you?" Brian demands insistently. "Did you see his face?"

"Hmmm. . . . No. I guess not. . . . Now that you mention it, I never did see his face. He had the hood of his sweatshirt up because of the cold." Emmett said, his voice sounding more unsure now.

"What made you think it was Justin, then," Brian kept on pressing for information.

"Ummm. . . . " Emmett screwed up his face at the effort of trying to remember until all of a sudden he thought of something and a smile came to his lips. "The sweatshirt! It was the same one I gave him for Christmas. You know that pretty powder blue cotton one I picked up when Teddy and I went to the 'Sexcapades'. The one with the ‘You Are Here’ logo. I just had to get it for Justin because I knew that shade of blue would be perfect with his eyes. Don't you remember how much he loved it? Plus, the logo was done in these glow-in-the-dark colors so if you wear it out clubbing you get to see the picture under the black lights. Remember?"

 

“Yeah, I remember the shirt," Brian said with a familiar smirk and a shake of his head as he remembered the tacky shirt that Justin simply adored wearing.

"That's why I was sure it was Justin. He was wearing that sweatshirt. I remember thinking that it was cool that I could see the glow-in-the-dark logo even from my car," Em assured the other two men. "There can't be that many of those shirts out there, right?"

"But, you never saw his face or heard his voice?" Brian insisted once again.

"Well, no. I guess not."

"It wasn't him, Carl," Brian said with conviction turning to face the skeptical detective. "Justin doesn't have any friends in that neighborhood that I know of. Plus, if Justin had been there he wouldn’t have just let someone bash Emmett. And, the guy that reported the attack didn’t say anything about anybody else at the scene except for the guy that came after Em. Someone's got Justin, Carl. They've taken him and they're using his cell phone and now his clothing. It's the only explanation, otherwise he would have called me by now."

"Come on, Brian. You can't be sure of that. The homeless guy that called in the report has disappeared and even if he hadn’t I doubt he’d be a reliable witness,” Carl reasoned. And, from what I heard, you and the kid aren't together anymore. Maybe he just isn't calling you back cause he's pissed at you again."

"No. He's not pissed at me anymore. We talked after the bombing the other night. I told him . . We . . . " Brian's face crumpled up in pain as he remembered the fear and the pain and the joy of his last conversation with his erstwhile lover. "He knew I wanted him back. He would have called me," Brian finally admitted in a pained, hushed voice.

"Well, anyway. . . regardless of the state of your love life, Kinney, I agree there's something odd going on here," Horvath conceded. "One of the prime suspects we have for the bombing at Babylon disappears and it just happens to be someone with a known history of aggression against Taylor, who coincidentally has also disappeared. Then several of Taylor's friends start having unexplained mishaps - first Michael's IV machine is tampered with, then Honeycutt gets mugged. I’d say it’s worth checking into further. But, I want you to promise me you’ll let me handle this, Brian. I don’t need you interfering. Do you hear me?” Carl nailed Brian with his most authoritative glare causing Brian only to fake a sickly sweet smile, clearly evidencing his lack of innocence even before the fact.

Carl folded his notebook and stuffed it back into the inner pocket of his overcoat. The three men traded a few more pleasantries and jokes and then the detective headed out of the hospital room with an assurance to Emmett that he’d get back to him as soon as the cops had anything. Brian was sitting in his corner being as inconspicuous as he could, just waiting until Carl was gone. As soon as the seasoned detective was out the door, though, Kinney pulled out his cell phone and started dialing a familiar number.

“Mars?” Brian said into the phone as soon as the call connected. “How’s the security system set-up at Justin’s coming along? . . . Great. I’ve got one more thing I need you to do for me on this. Are you in your office? . . . . I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Brian commanded and then ended the call.

“What in the name of all that is queer are you up to now, Brian Kinney?” asked the patient who was lounging in his hospital bed, now sporting a mischievous smile as he watched his friend.

“I think I have a plan, Emmy Lou,” Brian grinned as he rose from his chair, neared the bed and gently patted Emmett’s shoulder. “I’m going to set a little trap for our Sunshine thief. . . . .”  
:::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit this chapter is duller than usual - it's sort of just transitional to get me where I need to be for the rest of the plot. Sorry about that all. I kept trying to rewrite it to add more action, but finally got tired of the exercise in futility and decided to post what I had. More action, and hopefully more heat, coming soon. I promise. TAG.


	9. The Denial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hobbs' odd behavior is getting even worse. . . . What's going through that psycho head of his? Well, here's a shortish chapter where I've tried to explain a little more. Read on and you'll see. Enjoy!  
> :::::::::::::::::::::::
> 
> *****Chapter dedicated to paneverlands - the first AO3 reader to correctly guess where it is that Hobbs is holding Justin! Congrats!*****

Chapter 9 - The Denial.

 

"Shhhh, Baby, shhhh. . .  It's gonna be alright. . . . Shhhh, now. . . I'm here and we're gonna be just fine. . . Okay, now? That's right, you're okay. . . " the small, comforting nonsense words kept echoing through his mind as Justin felt himself drifting back towards consciousness.

 

He blinked his eyes open and noted from the changed angles of the shadows that it was much later than the last time he'd woken. He felt warmer than he had been, too. Trying to look around without moving his still aching head, Justin saw that someone had put his blue sweatshirt back on him and there appeared to be a blanket or towel of some kind draped over his torso as well.

 

The room around him appeared to be rocking slightly as he lay there trying to corral his senses onto one single plane. He thought at first it was just dizziness but then he noted movement at his back. That's when he finally connected the low crooning voice coming from behind him with the motion and figured out with a start that he wasn't alone.

 

Justin was too exhausted to be really afraid but he was curious about what he'd find when he looked behind him. He'd thought that, wherever he was, he was there alone. The few other times he'd woken, he hadn't seen anyone else, but his memories were so jumbled that he couldn't be sure. And, in spite of his aching body and still throbbing head, his mind seemed to be clearer than before, which meant it was time to try and figure out what was going on.

 

Justin took a deep breath, preparing himself for any potential pain as best he could, and lifted his head to look over his left shoulder. At first, all he could see was the shape of another person behind him, one arm stretched to loosely wrap around his waist. It was this arm and the shoulder attached to it that was rocking his body. The rest of the person was spooned around behind him, one body tenderly molded to the other.

 

Justin's small movement roused the other person instantly. The figure released its hold from around Justin's waist and sat up, leaning over anxiously to look into the injured boy's face. Justin was jostled roughly by this sudden activity and he felt for a moment like his brain was sloshing around loosely inside his head. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to still his sense of vertigo. When the world had stopped jumping around, he gingerly opened up his eyes again and then waited a moment till they were able to focus completely on the face hovering over him.

 

"Justin? Justin, baby, are you okay? Fuck, I was so worried about you, baby. It's gonna be okay now, though, so don't you worry. . . "

 

The meaning of the words registered in his fuzzy brain a full thirty seconds before the image did. And, even once he acknowledged what he was seeing, there was a disconnect between the face and the words that took additional time for him to process. After several more minutes, though, something clicked and Justin bolted upright, his legs working frantically to scoot his body backwards as best he could from the newly discovered threat.

 

"C-C-Chris Hobbs?" Justin's voice cracked as he finally managed to speak the name he'd finally connected to the face of the man sitting next to him.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

"Brian? I got your message to meet you here right away. What's up?" asked the timid accountant as he peeked his head around the door to Mars' office.

 

"Theodore! Perfect timing!" Brian crowed, waving his CFO into the room and indicating that he should sit in the remaining empty chair in front of the tech's cluttered desk. "So, tell me, have you ever wondered what the cheese in the mouse trap felt like?"

 

"Umm. No. Never. . . Should I have?" Ted replied nervously, looking back and forth between his smirking boss and the grinning, dark-skinned man still typing away assiduously at one of several computer keyboards on his desk.

 

"Well, I guess you're going to get the opportunity to find out soon," Brian said as he slapped Ted affectionately on the back. "You, my dear Ted, are going to be our bait."

 

"Done, my friend!" Mars interrupted with a final click or two of his computer mouse. "Both the front door and the fire escape at your Justin's apartment are hooked up to a silent alarm system. I've set it up so that a text will come to your phone, Brian, if the alarm is tripped. I've also set up motion detector activated webcams in the apartment, the front stairwell and the back loading dock area of the building. Any movement in the apartment will trigger all three web cameras which are linked directly here to my computer. I can record everything that happens. If anyone goes into that apartment, we'll have evidence of it for your police friend."

 

"Fabulous, Mars," Brian said approvingly. "Now we have our trap set up and our bait just arrived so all we have to do is spring it and hopefully we'll catch ourselves a rat."

 

:::::::::::::::::::

 

Justin was now regretting having watched those old reruns of 'The Twilight Zone' on the SciFi Channel. He felt like he was trapped in the plot from one of those episodes and his memories of how badly those stories usually ended were causing him to freak out even more. His only hope was that maybe it was one of those episodes where it turned out to all be a bad dream that he'd wake up from and then later laugh over. The longer the weirdness around him went on, though, the less likely it seemed like it would turn out to be a mere dream.

 

For more than an hour now, he'd watched from behind the closed metal grating as his longtime enemy, Chris Hobbs, had paced around the room muttering to himself. That wasn’t the really weird part though. The really weird thing was that Hobbs was trying to be NICE to him - well, sort of.

 

Right after he’d awoken, Hobbs had fussed over Justin for several minutes, crooning about how sorry he was that Justin had been hurt. Then, using a couple of the canvas tote bags from the corner of the room, Hobbs had made up a bed of sorts against the wall and gently lifted the injured blond onto the pile, covering him with the small blanket that had been draped over the two of them earlier. Justin hadn’t said anything during this laborious process. He’d been too astonished by Hobbs’ actions to think of anything to say. The ex-jock then brought over several more water bottles and a fresh bag of take out food and left everything close enough nearby that Justin could reach it all before retreating out of the cage and locking the door behind him.

 

“This isn’t right. This isn’t right. It’s not what I wanted. I just wanted not to feel like this anymore. This isn’t right, though. I feel worse than before and that’s not what I wanted. . . .” Hobbs was muttering as he paced, occasionally looking over at the spot where Justin was reclining in silence.  “I don’t want to hurt you, Taylor, you know. It’s just that I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to be like this. It’s all your fault. I don’t want to be like THIS, you know? I had to do something. . . . .”

 

“Hobbs?. . . . Chris?” Justin spoke up for the first time, his voice raspy from lack of use and the noise reverberating in his head increasing the throbbing headache. “If you don’t want to hurt me, you need to let me out of here. Please.”

 

The sound of Justin’s voice caused Chris Hobbs to literally jump. The pacing man stopped and stared at the other man with evident confusion. It was as if hearing Taylor’s voice shocked him in some fashion - almost as if he’d completely forgotten about Justin’s presence. Justin decided to use the sudden silence to press his request.

 

“Please, Chris. I need to get out of here and get to a doctor. My head. . . .” Justin started, trying to sound calm and yet as convincing as possible, but he didn’t get to finish his plea when Hobbs interrupted gruffly.

 

“I can’t do that. I can’t let you go. I. . . I can’t. I have to figure this out. . . .” Chris barked out and resumed his pacing. “I think Trey has figured it out. . . . Yeah, he’s on to me, I just know it. . . Do you think he knows that girl - the football chick? She probably told him about me and what happened the other night. What other reason would he have to just turn up out of the blue like that? . . . Maybe he’s talked to Murchison. . . It’s all your fault, you know. I can’t help it, you know. Ever since you. . . . I can’t get it out of my mind. And it’s screwing everything up, my job, my family, my life! Why did you do this to me, damn it? Why? I just have to stop it. . . Stop these feelings. . .“

 

Justin quickly came to the conclusion that he was superfluous to this conversation. In fact, it was probably better if he stayed quiet and maybe Hobbs would forget he was even there. There was obviously something very wrong with the man who was pacing, muttering and ranting in a very unstable manner, making no sense in his ramblings.

 

“Shit! Why am I even bothering? My life is already fucked. . . .I should just end it all now. . . . nothing is going to help . . . ” Hobbs’ ramblings faded out gradually but he kept pacing the small area in front of the cage door while Justin tried to disappear.

 

“Fuck it all! I just need to finish up what I was doing before. If I get rid of them - all of them - then nobody really has to know, right? I can just go back to before. . . . .Once I get rid of them all then no one will know and . . . . And, I can stop feeling like this, right?” Chris begged, turning again to where Justin was lying, pleading with the man who he still blamed for all of this.  

 

When Justin still said nothing, Hobbs abruptly turned around and practically ran out of the small room, slamming the door behind him, leaving a very confused and extremely worried Justin Taylor still locked in the the room, still too injured to move far and still at a loss as to how to get out of this predicament.

 

::::::::::::::::::::

 

Hobbs had parked his truck outside of the little house he’d been to a couple nights ago and waited while he watched the house. When he’d been here before he’d seen the boyfriend, the tall lanky guy - Emmett - the one he’d taken out last night and that annoyingly loud bitchy red-wigged woman all together. Good thing they seemed to congregate in packs. Anyway, it seemed like a good place to find the next person he needed to take care of.

 

While he waited, Hobbs pulled Taylor’s phone out of the arm rest console next to his seat and slipped the SIM card back in. He figured that he could use the contacts list to help him figure out who else he might find at this house. He knew there was a risk that Kinney might try to track the phone again, but he’d only keep the phone on a short time and the info he thought he could get was worth the slight risk.

 

Unfortunately, it took longer than he’d expected to find what he was looking for in Taylor’s list of contacts. The little fucker had too many friends. But, finally, he found a name that corresponded to the address he was looking at - Debbie Novotny. Hobbs smiled to himself.

 

Yeah, it was about time to take care of that bitchy, fag-loving troublemaker.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

TBC.

 

[National Institutes of Health - Info on Psychotic Major Depression.](http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000933.htm) \- In case you’re wondering exactly what the hell is going on with Hobbs, here’s a link to some info on what I’ve gathered through my research. TAG

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, writing from Hobbs' perspective is really, really hard. I'm trying to be all psychotic and all but I'm finding it hard to write the kind of disjointed, unconnected random thoughts the character should be experiencing. Hope I came even a little close without it seeming hokey. TAG


	10. The House with the Red Door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian's plan looks like it's going to work! He's trying his best to get to his Sunshine in time. The suspense is killing me too, guys! Sorry - I know this chapter is a little short, but the next chapter is going to be sooo busy and full of action that I had to break it here or risk a monster chapter. TAG  
> ::::::::::::::::::::::::

Chapter 10 - The House with the Red Door.

Brian and Ted were still at Mars’ office discussing and revising their plans when Brian’s phone vibrated and chimed indicating he’d received a text message. He rapidly pulled the phone out of his pocket and checked the screen. He smiled up at his cohorts as soon as he’d read the brief text.

“It’s showtime boys!” Brian declared with his typical sardonic smile and a tilt of his head. “Justin’s phone was just activated. He’s. . . . “ Brian’s voice trailed off while he tapped at the phone screen a few times until he found the information he’d been looking for. “He’s by Deb’s house . . . again. Hmmm. I wonder why Hobbs, or whoever’s got Justin, would be there?”

“No time to wonder about that, man,” Mars trumpeted, jumping up from his chair and running around the desk to grab Ted’s cell phone away from the diffident man. “We got to get that text sent while the phone is still on and the perp’s looking at it. Otherwise, your plan is for shit, man.”

The burly black man was already keying something into Ted’s phone as he spoke though, not waiting for Brian or Ted to act on their own. He quickly finished his tapped out message and then hit the ‘send’ button. Then the grinning man calmed instantly and handed back the small device to the waiting pair.

“Done! Let’s hope, my friend, that your plan works,” Mars said, his brilliantly white teeth shining out of a wide smile. “This spy stuff is fun, man. You know, there are no famous Jamaican detectives in literature. Maybe I could be the first one, hey?”

::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Hobbs was just finishing up with Taylor’s phone and was about to shut it off when a new text message came up: ‘Ted Schmidt: Em’s been hurt. Not doing well. I’m heading to hospital. I can pick you up @ your place if you want.’

‘Shit,’ thought Hobbs, slamming his fist against the steering wheel in anger. ‘I thought that fairy was toast. I can’t believe he’s still alive. I thought I hit him pretty hard, damn it. Why are all these fairies so fucking hard to get rid of?’

Hobbs briefly contemplated driving to the hospital to take care of that Emmett character right away, but quickly changed his mind. His last attempt at the hospital with that Michael guy hadn’t gone too well and he was reluctant to return to the place. Hobbs figured that even the idiot cops might start to get a little suspicious if all Taylor’s friends who ended up in the hospital had ‘accidents’ while they were patients. He’d just have to continue being patient himself and wait to see what happened to this Emmett. The text did say that the fag was, ‘not doing well.’ Maybe the guy would kick the bucket after all. Either way, it didn’t seem worth the risk to try anything again at the hospital.

Plus, he was already here at the bitchy red-head’s house. He’d already chosen her as his next target, right? He didn’t want to start getting sloppy and running around without a plan. It was probably better to stay here and work out a blueprint for how he was going to get to Ms. Novotny.

However, from the lack of lights on in the house, not to mention the lack of movement, Hobbs figured that nobody was home here right now, anyway. Undoubtedly he’d have to wait and watch the house for a long while before he was familiar enough with the occupants’ routines before he could come up with any real plan. He wouldn’t be able to ‘hit’ the Novotny bitch today at any rate.

Hobbs felt too antsy to just sit and do surveillance, though. He’d been getting almost no sleep lately but, oddly, he wasn’t all that tired. He felt wired. All the adrenaline from the past few days was still working in his system and he just didn’t think he could sit here in his truck much longer. He wanted action, not just waiting around.

Besides, now that Taylor was awake, he was feeling pretty nervous about what he was going to do about THAT whole part of the plan. If he sat around too much he’d be forced to think about it and he didn’t want to think about Taylor at all. He wanted it all to just go away - the anxiety, the anger, the embarrassment, the longing - ALL of it. No way was Hobbs going to be able to just sit around here the rest of the day waiting for the bitch to return while he worried about all of THAT. He had to take some kind of action right away. But, what?

That’s when he noticed he still had Taylor’s cell phone in his hand. “Shit!” he muttered angrily. He should have already turned it off and taken out the damn SIM card by now. He knew that the boyfriend was tracking the fucking thing and he’d meant to only have it on a brief time while he used the Contacts list. Now, he’d inadvertently left the thing on for god knows how long. Kinney was probably halfway here already.

Hobbs started to reach for the power button to switch the phone off when he saw the last text message - the one he’d been reading when he got distracted before.

“Ted Schmidt? Who are you, Ted Schmidt?” Hobbs commented aloud to himself. “You obviously know Taylor and that fairy Emmett . . . It’s probably a safe bet that you’re a fag too, right? And, if I tell you to pick up Taylor at his apartment, then I’ll know exactly where you’re going to be . . . . That crappy building Taylor lives in has absolutely NO security and except for those Meth-heads and the party guys the other night there wasn’t a lot of traffic . . . . . So, if I’m careful this time and wear gloves and maybe a hat so nobody who happens to see me will recognize me, I could probably get in and out without leaving any evidence . . . Maybe I could even set it up to look like it was Taylor’s fault? Then, when Taylor disappears too, it would just look like he was running . . . . Hmmm . . . Maybe? . . . . “

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Come on. Take the bait you fucker. Come on!” Brian was chanting to himself in an undertone while the three men waited for a response to the text that had been sent to Justin’s phone.

Brian kept checking the phone tracking app and noted that Justin’s phone hadn’t moved at all since the text was sent. Whoever had Justin’s phone was hovering near Debbie’s house, just sitting there. Brian was starting to get pretty anxious, wondering what the person was doing at Deb’s. But, since Emmett was still at the hospital - and Carl had promised him that they’d put some security on Emmett’s room as well as Michael’s - and since he knew that Debbie was working till 6:00 pm today, there shouldn’t be anyone at the house. So, what was that creep doing there?

While Brian was muttering to himself, Ted had been pacing back and forth in the small space between the doorway and the visitors’ chairs for the past five minutes. Mars was lounging in his big, ergonomically designed desk chair, occasionally clicking the mouse or typing desultorily at the keyboard of one or the other of his computers while they waited. It had been almost ten minutes since they’d sent the message. They were all wondering what was taking so long. Would their plan work?

*Chime* came the signal from the cell phone sitting on the corner of Mars’ desk as all three simultaneously leaned over and, heads together, stared at the screen of Ted’s iPhone.

‘J. Taylor: Please. Meet U @ my apartment in 45 mins. Thx.’ the incoming text message read.

“Yes!” Brian said jumping out of his chair and already running towards the door. As he ran down the hallway, he yelled at Mars over his shoulder, “make sure the cameras are working and then give me five minutes before you call the cops. Let’s go, Theodore!”

:::::::::::::::::::::::

“I don’t know about this, Brian,” Ted complained as his friend drove at breakneck speeds towards Justin’s rickety old apartment building. “He could have a gun or something. I’m not really comfortable with violence, you know. I mean. . . .”

“Calm yourself, Theodore,” Brian commanded, authority and control ringing clearly in his tone. “I don’t think he has a gun - if he did he would have used that on Emmy Lou instead of trying to knock the boy’s brains out. Besides, I’ll be right there with you. You won’t even have to go in the apartment. But I need you to actually knock on the door for me, is all. The apartment has one of those peep-hole things in the door so I need you to just stand there until Hobbs sees that it’s you and not me. As soon as he starts to open the door, you can back away to safety and I’ll take it from there.”

“Yeah, and then what do you plan on doing?” Ted asked skeptically, although holding up his hands in surrender when Brian shot him an angry look. “Have you actually thought out this plan of your’s, Bri? Some psychopathic freak has apparently taken Justin captive - if not worse - bombed your nightclub, and tried kill Michael and Emmett. And you’re going to do what? Just ‘rush him’ when he opens the door? You’re going to get yourself fucking killed, Brian.  
Shouldn’t we just wait till the cops get here?”

“Right - wait for the cops to act,” Brian yelled back at Ted, who’s now cringing against the side door. “I’ve BEEN waiting for the cops for three days now, Ted! Carl can’t do anything to help find Justin until it’s been seventy-two hours - that’s not till tomorrow fucking morning. I’m NOT waiting any longer to find him. I know that Justin needs me. I just fucking know it.”

After a few minutes of silence, Ted revamps his courage enough to try again to discourage his friend’s seemingly reckless behavior. “But, Brian, if I remember right this Hobbs is a pretty big guy, isn’t he? You really think you can take him? And what if he has a weapon - maybe not a gun but a knife or whatever? What the hell are you going to do then?”

“I don’t know what I’ll do, Theodore,” Brian responded relatively calmly as he pulled the Vette up to the curb about a block away from Justin’s building. He pulled the keys out of the ignition, handed them to Ted and then started to get out of the car. “I’ll make it up as I go. I’m pretty good at improvising. You just wait here until it’s time. I’ll be waiting upstairs - hiding somewhere. Don’t worry, I’ll be close. I want to be somewhere that I can see what’s happening. As soon as I hear from Mars that he’s in the apartment, I’ll call you and you can come up. I’ll meet you up there.”

Then Brian was off, not waiting for a response from Ted before he bolted down the street towards the old warehouse building.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

‘Ted Schmidt: Okay. I’ll be there soon.’

Hobbs read the reply text which came almost immediately after he’d sent ‘Taylor’s’ response accepting the ride to the hospital. He needed to rush over to Taylor’s apartment and get things ready before this Ted guy got there. But he thought he’d better clarify one little thing first, so he sent one last message before tossing the phone aside.

‘Need a shower first. Come on up when you get here.’ Hobbs keyed in and then hit the send button, trying to make sure that Schmidt would come all the way upstairs into Taylor’s apartment and not expect him to meet him down at the curb. For what he had planned, Hobbs would need his victim to end up inside Taylor’s apartment.

He tossed the phone onto the dashboard and quickly started up the truck’s engine, heading straight for Taylor’s place as fast as he could drive. In his mind, Hobbs was already reviewing what he planned and going over lists of what he’d need. Luckily, he already had all the equipment he’d need in the locker box of his truck. He was a little bit more nervous than usual though - so far his plans hadn’t been working out real well and he was determined to think and rethink this one enough to prevent any further mishaps. There could be no more mistakes. Hobbs was convinced of that. So, to be sure, as he drove he went over the plan in his mind again and again.

He arrived at the building in less time than he thought it would take, which he took as a good sign. He parked his big red truck in the alley behind the building right across from the rear loading dock of the old warehouse. Then Hobbs hopped out and wasted no time getting a baseball cap, a sturdy pair of work gloves and his old high-school baseball bat out of the locker in the bed of the truck. Once he had everything, he dashed up the back stairs and headed into the apartment building. Ready to lay a trap for his next target.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you're all getting a bit tired of having Justin beaten repeatedly by Hobbs? Can't blame you. Therefore, I left any potential Justin bashing out of this chapter. You all deserved a little breather. And, don't worry - now that Justin's feeling a little more alert, he may just bash back a little. You'll have to keep reading though to find out. Also, thanks to all my devoted readers - I really enjoy all the kudos and reviews. I soooooo appreciate that you read and (hopefully) like my stories. Your continued support and reviews are what keep me motivated. Thanks. TAG


	11. The Apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fun action-packed chapter for you, folks. Hope you like raw, primal Cave-man!Brian. I know I do. . . . Enjoy!  
> :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Chapter 11 - The Apartment.

 

Brian nudged the bathroom door open a smidgen wider so that his view of the hallway leading to Justin's apartment was clear. From his vantage point behind the slightly ajar door, he could easily see Justin's grungy doorway. With the lights off in the small bathroom behind him, though, he didn't think anyone would notice him lurking here. The only light in the room was the muted glow from his phone as the apprehensive man continued to follow the progress of the little locator arrow which travelled around the map displayed by the tracking application showing the current location of Justin's phone.

 

Brian had only been hiding in the small space for a couple of minutes but was already thoroughly disgusted by his surroundings. The cramped communal toilet was definitely NOT well maintained. There were sticky brown urine stains around the base of the constantly running crapper, mold growing on the ceiling and the cracked plastic shower surround and unidentifiable piles of lint, dirt and fuck-knows-what-else on the dirty tiles in the corner under the rusting, dripping sink. Brian was sickened by the thought of his blond having to share this filthy bathroom with the other degenerate slimeballs in the building.

 

One thing was for certain, as soon as he found his boyfriend, Justin was moving out of this shithole. The fucking place should be condemned. Brian also made a mental note to have a serious discussion with Jennifer about her judgment in letting her son even think about living in a dump like this. Brian was trying very hard not to touch any of the surfaces around him while he silently waited for whoever was coming to land in his trap.

 

Luckily for his sense of propriety, Brian didn’t have to wait in the toilet for very long. Within minutes after his arrival, he heard someone galloping up the stairs. A tall form shrouded by a dark denim jacket, a bulky brown woolen scarf and a baseball cap, wearing heavy leather work gloves and carrying a wooden bat rushed up to the door as Brian watched. The man turned the door handle, which had been conveniently left unlocked for him by Mars’ security installation guys, and shouldered his way into the apartment with only a cursory look around him.

 

Within moments, Brian’s phone vibrated with two new incoming text messages. The first was an automated message sent out by the security system which simply indicated that the alarm at Justin’s apartment had been tripped. The second was from Brian’s tech guru and read only, ‘He’s inside. Cameras working. I’m recording. Mars.'

 

Brian quickly dialed Ted’s number and whispered, “You’re on.” Then, taking a deep breath, the tall brunet slipped out of his stinky hiding spot, dashed a few paces down the hall and positioned himself just around the corner so that he was only a few meters away from Justin’s door but still out of the direct line of sight. Within about five minutes, Brian could hear Ted trudging up the staircase, breathing a tad heavily from the number of floors. When he saw his friend reach the landing, Brian waved at Ted from his place of concealment, indicating with a gesture which doorway to approach and jerking his head to let Ted know he should hurry up.

 

The intrepid little accountant visibly squared his shoulders, rolled his eyes and shook his head at Brian to indicate his ongoing doubts about this plan. But Brian wasn't going to be deterred by the likes of Ted, so he just glared at the other man. Ted knew it was futile to try to dissuade Brian from anything, so he screwed up his courage and knocked on the door.

 

::::::::::::::::::

 

Chris Hobbs was ready when he heard the knock on the apartment door. He peeked through the fisheye lens of the small glass peephole in the door, noting only the unassuming, mousy-haired man standing in the corridor. To pump himself up, he quickly inhaled and exhaled four or five breaths, just like the football coach always had them do right before a game. Then he hefted the baseball bat into his left hand, holding it ready above his shoulder, and grabbed at the door handle with his right.

 

As soon as he grasped the door handle, causing the cheap metal hasp to rattle faintly, the door was flung open violently. The wooden door crashed into his body, which had been positioned close to the jamb so that he would be ready to rush out towards his target. The momentum was enough that Hobbs was knocked backwards, totally unprepared and unbalanced, flying awkwardly through the air.

 

Before he could react at all, a large dark figure blasted through the doorway, slamming the flimsy door into the wall behind so hard that the handle crashed through the plaster. The blurry form rushed through the opening grabbing Hobbs and yelling like a banshee. A fist pounded into Hobbs' jaw even as the startled man was falling. The fall, added to the impetus from the punch, caused Chris to land heavily on the floor, his body continuing to slide backward on the slick hardwood flooring almost all the way across the room.

 

Hobbs sprawled awkwardly, his limbs akimbo, a bit stunned. His attacker wasted no time covering the three paces between the doorway and where he landed, pouncing on Hobbs and raining repeated blows onto his face. He raised his arms defensively to ward off the hard fists, unable to gather his wits enough to fight back right away.

 

"Where is he, you fucker? What did you do to him? Where is Justin?" Hobbs heard the words being screamed at him over and over, each sentence punctuated with another clout to his face or body.

 

Hobbs wasn't sure how long this tirade continued. Finally, when his ears were ringing and each new blow caused the hazy red splotch of pain to obscure his vision a little bit more, he noticed that the punches started to land less solidly.

 

"Stop! Brian, stop! He can't answer you while you're punching him in the face," Hobbs heard an unfamiliar tenor voice.

 

After a brief struggle, the unassuming, smaller, dark-haired man managed to reason with the hulking bundle of rage hovering over him and the hail of fists ceased. The attacker stood up shakily and Hobbs finally recognized the stylish auburn hair and the too-handsome chiseled features of the 'Boyfriend'. The older man didn't move too far away. Kinney remained hovering over Hobbs, pacing while he absent-mindedly shook out and flexed his right fist, surveying the damage to his hand. Hobbs could see dark red smears of blood on the man's knuckles, although he wasn't sure if the blood was from Kinney's split knuckle or his own split lip.

 

Hobbs watched the Boyfriend taking deep breaths as he tried to calm himself. His own mind was far from calm. Thoughts, plans, ideas were swarming through his brain, each immediately discounted as he tried desperately to come up with some way to escape.

 

"Fuck!" Kinney swore as he cradled his right hand in his left. "I think it's busted."

 

"I'm not surprised looking at that mess you made of his face," the smaller, timid man replied as he relaxed a little, leaning back against the wall behind him.

 

"Mars," Kinney yelled, looking up vaguely towards the ceiling. "Make sure the cops are on the way!"

 

Then, apparently forgetting the pain in his hand, Kinney advanced back towards Hobbs who was still waiting on the floor where he'd landed. The infuriated brunet aimed an angry kick at the prostrate Hobbs who tried, unsuccessfully, to scramble backwards in order to avoid the blow. Rage and fear and desperation were all obvious on Kinney's face as he continued to crowd towards the now terrified ex-jock huddled on the plain wooden floor. Hobbs continued to scrabble his legs, trying to find enough purchase on the slippery surface to slide backwards.

 

“Now, you goddamned little fucker,” Kinney hissed menacingly as he bent over Hobbs until the two men’s faces were mere centimeters apart. “Tell me what you’ve done to Justin.”

 

Chris continued to try inching away from the intimidating man but had only moved a tiny ways when he was stopped short in his retreat by the wall behind him. He managed to scoot closer and sit up more using the wall as a support. All he could do at this point though was slide along the plane of the wall until his back was wedged into the corner of the room. Kinney was still glaring at him and following closely, never letting up the pressure of his hulking presence.

 

“You’re not going anywhere, Hobbs,” Kinney threatened. “The cops are going to be here any second and this time you’re not getting off with community service. You’re going away for a long, long time. But, first you’re going to tell me where you’ve taken Justin. And he better not be fucking hurt or I’m going to make you hurt even more, you goddamned little prick.”

 

Hobbs looked around him frantically trying to come up with some way to escape. He was trapped. Kinney was starting to get impatient since Hobbs still wasn’t talking. The older man loomed closer, starting to lean down to grab onto the cowering Hobbs, thinking he could shake some answers out of the fucker.

 

Hobbs was still trying to inch away but was almost ready to give up when his left hand touched against something cold and metallic. He had no idea what it was but he grabbed onto the item, feeling the smooth round surface against his palm. As Kinney grabbed at his jacket collar with his uninjured left hand, Hobbs desperately lobbed the unknown object into Kinney’s face, rejoicing at the cry of pain as the older man recoiled. Kinney fell backwards, blinded, his hands wiping at his face which was now covered with sooty black ashes, a stray cigarette butt or two caught in his hair. The empty Spaghettios can, which had been temporarily put to use as an ashtray, rolled away from its spot under the window where Justin liked to smoke.

 

Hobbs seized the opportunity afforded him by the momentary chaos, bolted to his feet and headed towards the door. Ted jumped up as well and tried valiantly to block the retreating man, but Hobbs rushed the smaller man just like he’d been taught when confronting the defensive line in any football game. The burly jock easily knocked the lightweight man aside, throwing Ted violently against the wall as Hobbs ran past and out the still open door as fast as he could maneuver. Ted slumped to the ground, the wind temporarily knocked out of him, unable to stop the retreating man or come to the aid of his nearby friend who was trying to rub the stinging ashes out of his eyes.

 

By the time Ted was finally able to gasp a ragged breath and move towards where Brian was still hunched on the floor, Hobbs was long gone.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

“I TOLD you, I’m fine,” Brian was hollering from the corner where the paramedic had corralled him while trying to examine his eyes.

 

“Sit still Kinney and let the guy look you over,” ordered Carl Horvath, shoving Brian back down with a hand on the younger man’s shoulder when the reluctant patient tried to stand up.

 

The paramedic said nothing but continued to irrigate Brian’s eyes using a large saline filled squirt bottle, letting the solution drip down the man’s face to collect in a kidney shaped basin the medic held against the injured man’s cheek. When the medic thought that enough saline had been used, he set the bottle and basin aside and pulled a small pen light out of his pocket, switching it on and flashing the beam into his patient’s eyes, watching the reaction of the pupils. The bright light caused Brian to blink, eliciting a yelp from the impatient patient, and causing him to flinch away from the man trying to look into his injured eyes.

 

“It looks like you’ve got some minor abrasions to your corneas,” the paramedic explained as he continued with his examination. “After the ashes got thrown in your face, some of the particles got caught under your eyelids and you probably ground them even deeper by rubbing at them. We’re going to have to get you to the hospital so a doctor can look at you and make sure there aren’t any foreign particles still in there. You’re going to have a lot of pain and tearing and your eyesight will likely be blurry for a few days but it should heal on it’s own pretty fast. The doctor will give you some antibiotic eye drops to prevent infection and help with the pain. As long as you take it easy and rest, though, you should be fine in a couple days.”

 

“Fuck that!” Brian exclaimed, trying again to evade the medic’s grasp and get up from the chair where he’d been seated. “That maniac’s still loose and he’s got Justin. We don’t have time for this, Carl.”

 

“Yeah, and who’s fault is it that Hobbs is still out there, huh Kinney?” Carl admonished the younger man angrily. “Why the fuck didn’t you call and tell me what the hell you were going to do before you went off like a half-cocked vigilante? You’re lucky you didn’t get yourselves killed, you know that? Fucking god complex . . . ” Carl’s voice trailed off as he turned away from a now sheepish looking Brian Kinney, pulling out his cell phone and barking orders to the unseen person on the other end of the line.

 

Ted wandered over from where the other paramedic had been examining him. Brian and Ted watched as Horvath paced and shouted into his phone, cursing out whoever he was speaking to and delivering various directives both through the phone and to the nearby uniformed officers and forensic staff. When the older detective finally hung up the phone he approached the two waiting amateur collaborators, shaking his head and mumbling curses under his breath.

 

“We still don’t have a residence for Hobbs pinned down,” Horvath confessed. “The video you got along with the other evidence we’ve dug up at the club should be enough though to get us a warrant to get the info from one of the local utility companies and an arrest warrant for once we actually locate him.” Brian started to interrupt but Carl was having none of it and continued in a more demanding tone. “In the meantime, Kinney, you’re going to the hospital and get looked at by a doctor. And, don’t try to argue. A fat lot of fucking good you’d be to Justin if you can’t even see straight. Schmidt, you’re going with him and make SURE he doesn’t leave till the doctor gives him the all clear.” When Brian again tried to protest, Carl held up his hand to stop the interruption and pierced the complaining brunet with his most authoritarian glare. “If you don’t do exactly as I’m telling you, Kinney, I swear to god I’ll arrest you for interfering with a police investigation . . . And, if that doesn’t work, I’ll sic Debbie on you.”

 

That last comment caused all three men to break into grins temporarily before Horvath put back on his serious cop face and turned to order his men out of the small apartment and onto the next task. Brian and Ted watched as the paramedics finished packing up their gear. When everyone was finally heading out of the tiny room, Ted linked his arm through Brian’s and started guiding him out the door as well, determined to herd his headstrong friend to the hospital before Brian could get them both in even more trouble.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Justin leaned back against the piled up tote bags that were making up his bed and tried to wait patiently after Hobbs left. He’d been picking at the takeout food from the bag next to his bed but, even though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, the cold, greasy burger wasn’t very appetizing and did nothing for his still slightly nauseated stomach. However, he knew he needed to eat to regain some strength so he kept trying.

 

He’d also been thinking, now that his head seemed to be a bit clearer. He thought back to the last clear memory he had - it was of Brian kissing him amid a chaos of swirling lights, noise, people and vehicles. He could see in his mind that there were several ambulances and firetrucks surrounding the area where he and Brian were standing. He tried to concentrate on that image, seeking to clarify what he remembered. After reviewing the picture in his mind repeatedly, something clicked and he finally realized where they had been standing - it was outside Babylon.

 

As soon as he recalled that fact, his mind was flooded with other images of the club: People packed into the brightly lit club - his mother and Tucker, Michael and Ben, Ted and someone he didn’t know, others he recognized from the community; It wasn’t the normal atmosphere of the club though. . . .  

 

The Benefit Concert!

 

The memory flashed into his mind all at once followed by a flood of other related memories; Emmett up on the stage; Cyndi Lauper singing; a blindingly bright flash of light - the BOMB!

 

Then, later, the emergency workers were pushing into the now darkened building, ear-shattering alarms blaring away everywhere, and Justin remembered trying to help an older couple who’d been injured get out of the building. And, then, Brian had found him. Justin again felt the same sense of overwhelming relief as the tall, obviously worried man pushed his way through the debris towards him, the strong arms wrapping around his still trembling body and the always soft, warm lips meeting his.

 

Another memory, later still, outside the club where he saw Brian again moving toward him, threading his way through the maze of emergency vehicles and busily rushing people. Justin remembered breaking away from the police officer to whom he’d been giving a statement and quickly walking to meet Brian. They’d embraced again, holding each other to reassure themselves that they were both still there and alive. Their eyes had met and Justin had seen the surging love and longing in the hazel orbs that he adored so much.

 

Then, the confession - Brian telling him how scared he’d been at the news of the bombing. Brian telling Justin that he loved him. Repeating that long yearned for phrase; “I love you”.  Brian had finally admitted it. Brian loved him!

 

Justin was too distracted by that wonderful memory to press on for more. It didn’t really matter, he figured, what had come after that. Brian loved him and was willing to say the words that he’d withheld for so long. That was all that was really important. However it was that Justin had ended up hurt and locked up here was not nearly as important as the fact that he knew Brian loved him and that he had to get back to him no matter what.

 

The ecstatic blond allowed himself to revel in that delicious memory for a long while before he finally looked around himself, determined to figure out how to get back to his lover. He still didn’t remember how he’d ended up here, but now, in the daylight, he clearly recognized his location. It had been more than four years since he’d last been in this room, but he easily recalled the memorable time he’d spent here in the athletic equipment room at his old school on that faraway afternoon when he’d given Chris Hobbs a hand job while the two boys leaned up against that very same metal grating.

 

Of course, on that occasion, Justin had been on the other side of the locked grating. Now, he was inside the metal cage where the coaches locked up the more valuable equipment whenever it wasn’t being used. He knew he was hurt and weak but he was feeling stronger. And, he knew that Chris Hobbs was the one responsible for him being hurt and locked away.

 

All Justin needed to do was figure out how to get out of here and get back to Brian.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Brian got to punch Chris Hobbs out! Did you all enjoy that? Unfortunately, Action!Brian didn't really think this one through all the way and Hobbs is still on the loose. And they still don't know where Justin is being held. Ack! However will this be resolved? Guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out. TAG


	12. The Repercussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for some ACTION? Can I get a Whoo Hoo? TAG

Chapter 12 - The Repercussions.

Justin heard someone rattling the outer door handle and the metal grating of a key being jimmied in the lock. When the door of the athletic equipment room flew open and Chris Hobbs blew inside, Justin was waiting even though he was pretending to be asleep again. His head was laid back at an angle, propped up against the uppermost tote bag with his eyelids resting so that he could peek out through his long dark blond lashes. Hobbs flipped the switch to turn on the lights which illuminated the main floor area but only dimly lit up the cage - which was just fine with Justin since it helped with his plan.

Hobbs was obviously worked up about something. He was pacing and muttering to himself in the small open area, gesturing emphatically with his hands to some unseen audience and occasionally shaking or nodding his head. Justin couldn’t make out the words - Hobbs was mumbling, stuttering and only voicing about half of each thought that was apparently racing through his mind - but he could tell that Hobbs was agitated. It was hard to keep pretending to be unconscious with that much excitement going on. He wanted to get a better idea what Hobbs was doing but he didn’t want to give away his ruse. But luckily Hobbs wasn’t really looking at his captive very closely. The few times Justin’s eyelids accidentally flickered open, Hobbs wasn’t watching.

“The boyfriend. . . . Fuck! They know it was me. . . . waiting. . . a fucking trap. . . Shit! What the fuck do I do now?” Chris seemed to be limping a little as he strode back and forth, back and forth, looking over with evident confusion at the huddled form in the cage every so often. “Police will be coming. . . Can’t go back to the Pit - they’re probably already there. . . . Goddamned Kinney. . . . Move him?. . . Fucking where, though?. . . Going to have to get rid of him, somehow. . . . Identify me. . . Shit, shit, shit, shit. . . .”

From what little he could hear, the captive was getting worried that things were going to get much worse very soon. Chris Hobbs seemed even more unstrung than before he’d left a few hours ago. Something had obviously happened and it sounded like it had to do with Brian. Justin was sure his heart was now beating so hard it would be visible even through his clothing and the lightweight blanket. If anything had happened to Brian . . . . .

“WHY!” Hobbs turned towards the cage and screamed, his fingers thrusting through the grating, gripping the metal till his knuckles were white, rattling the gate violently as he continued. “Why the fuck couldn’t you have just left me alone? You had to ruin everything, didn’t you, Taylor? You fucking stole my LIFE! I never wanted to want you. . . . “ The last part of this statement was squelched off with a muted sob, although Justin couldn’t tell while he was still playing possum if Hobbs was actually crying or not.

Hobbs let his body collapse against the metal grating, his knees giving way as he held himself up only with his enmeshed fingers. The shaggy ash-blond head of his jailer softly thumped against the gate repeatedly for several long minutes while Justin maintained his pretense of sleep. Finally, the mournful figure let go its grasp and Hobbs’ body sunk into a dejected heap on the floor in front of the cage door.

Justin could do nothing but wait. Outside, the weak afternoon light began to fade and still Hobbs hadn’t moved. Justin didn’t want to give up his deception yet, but there was only so long he could maintain this subterfuge. The longer Hobbs went without acting, the more the fear and adrenaline that had been keeping Justin going ebbed away. He was starting to feel honestly sleepy again, his head ached with an increasing intensity and the periodic spells of nausea and dizziness were hitting him more frequently as he struggled to keep awake and stay prepared for whatever Hobbs might do next.

The only thing that kept Justin from giving in to his exhaustion and pain was his overwhelming desire to get back to Brian.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It took several hours of tedious waiting and mind-numbing hospital bureaucracy before Brian’s release paperwork was finally signed off by the ER doctor. Brian would have bolted long since if Ted hadn’t been watching him unflaggingly and reminding him that Carl would be siccing Debbie on them if Brian didn’t sit still and wait until he was taken care of. Ted also had to remind Brian repeatedly that they really didn’t know where to go or what else they could do until the police located Hobbs. In other words, logically there was nothing that Brian could do to help Justin at the moment so he might just as well let the doctor take care of him.

Even then, Ted didn't think he would've been able to keep Brian from leaving if it hadn't been for the fed up ER doctor sneaking up on the intransigent patient with a hypodermic filled with a mild sedative. After yelling like a baby, cursing out the doctor and then threatening to sue the hospital for all of five minutes, Brian had finally quieted. Ted rather enjoyed the ensuing peace while Brian sat submissively, a loopy half-grin on his face, as the doctors and nurses poked and prodded away.

The sedative had almost worn off by the time Ted steered a still subdued Brian Kinney out the ER doors towards the parking lot. Brian was looking rakish with a black nylon patch covering his right eye - the one that had been scratched the worst by the cigarette ashes Hobbs threw at him - and a black wrist brace protecting the two cracked metacarpals on his right hand. The dazed brunet was stumbling along beside his friend, clutching a paper bag full of pain meds and antibiotics in his good hand and trying to dislodge Ted's guiding hand off his shoulder, all the while shaking his head to clear the sedative fog.

Just as the pair reached the parked Corvette, Brian's cell phone rang. Brian tried futilely for a moment to shove his hand along with the bulky brace into his jacket pocket to retrieve the phone. Ted quickly took action, reaching deftly around his friend and extracting the phone before Brian could become too frustrated. Then, Ted efficiently accepted the call and traded out the bag of meds for the phone before a bleary Brian even realized what was happening. It took him a second to appreciate what to do with the vibrating gadget in his hand but he eventually raised the phone to his ear and snarled "Huh?" at whoever was on the other end of the call.

A short conversation later, Brian seemed to have regathered some of his wits. He pushed Ted towards the driver's side of the car then jogged around to the far side.

"No fucking way, Carl. I'm not waiting around any more. We're coming there. I'll meet you in ten minutes," Brian snarled into the phone, then dove into the passenger seat and motioned Ted to start driving. "The police found Hobbs' apartment. He's not there and neither is Justin. Let's go."

::::::::::::::::::::::::

Brian, with a dutiful Ted trailing behind, was jogging down the stairs of the crumbling old brick apartment building within less than ten minutes. The stairway down to the 'daylight' basement level was narrow with an uncomfortably low ceiling and was only dimly lit. When Brian looked up at the solitary light, he saw that the ancient frosted glass fixture cover was dirty and he could plainly see the bodies of several dead insects inside, their rotting chitinous skeletons further obstructing any illumination. He ducked his head even more as he walked under the disgusting light then hurried down the hall to the back where all the activity was taking place.

"It doesn't look like we got much, Detective," a short nerdy-looking man was saying as the two new arrivals approached Horvath. "No evidence of any criminal activity here. We'll get fingerprints and a DNA sample to confirm with what was found at the bombing site, but that's about all."

Okay, Roberts. Thanks," Carl said dejectedly as he tiredly patted the smaller man's shoulder and turned to face the newcomers.

"You've got nothing?" an exasperated Brian Kinney was already complaining before Carl could even voice a greeting.

"Back off, Kinney! I told you there was no sense in you coming over here," Carl tried to placate the frustrated man. "If Hobbs was our bomber, then he didn't build the thing here. And, there's nothing my guys could find tying him to Taylor's disappearance or to the assault attempts. From the looks of it, Hobbs doesn't spend a whole bunch of time in this dump - and who could blame him. Why do these places always smell like dirty socks?"

Horvath was already walking away from the doorway as he spoke, surveying the tiny single room apartment as he went. Brian and Ted followed the detective - both wearing disdainful expressions as they observed the tiny, moldy place filled with rickety worn out furniture. There was a storage closet across from the entrance and another door, to what appeared to be a bathroom, directly behind the entryway door. As you walked to the right, into the main room, there was a small kitchenette area on the left separated from the main living area by a half wall. In the rest of the space there was only an unmade full sized mattress on a wheeled frame in the back corner, a threadbare plaid recliner next to the bed and a combination bookcase/entertainment center against the one long wall. The two small windows in the back wall looked out onto the slope of the hill where the building sat, giving a great view of the bumpers of the cars parked in the adjacent parking lot. The walls were just bare concrete painted a dingy beige and the low pile carpeting on the floor was a worn-looking grey-green.

While Carl was talking to his people, who seemed to be already packing up their equipment to leave, Brian checked out the main living area, trying not to let his clothing rub up against any of the filthy surfaces as he walked about. Other than the second-hand furniture, there wasn't a lot in the place. The walls were almost bare. The only 'art' hanging up was a felt pennant promoting the 'St. James Academy Cardinals' and a current year calendar showing this year's football team and coaches all posing outside of Justin's not-so-beloved alma mater. Brian left Ted perusing the calendar and moved on.

The entertainment center contained a fairly nice HD television, a DVD player and a stereo with a multi-disc CD player. All these pieces of equipment were dusty and looked seldom used. The only vaguely interesting area was the nearby bookcase, which had very few actual books in it, but was clean and filled with old sports trophies, team photos and other memorabilia from Hobbs' glory days.

All the photos showed a younger man, who was tall, well-built and athletic, and who seemed to always sport a cocky sneering grin. There were multiple pictures of Hobbs in various sports outfits - football, baseball, even lacrosse. The team photos all had Hobbs in the center, surrounded by apparently adoring team mates. In the center of the top shelf, right at eye level, was a graduation day photo showing Hobbs standing in front of the imposing structure of St. James Academy, dressed in a royal blue gown and mortar board cap, surrounded by his smiling parents and siblings

The graduation photo caused Brian's smoldering anger to burst into full flame again. He knew that while Hobbs had been posing for that memorable photo, Justin had still been in the hospital, barely clinging to life after having his skull bashed in thanks to that grinning little prick. And now, almost five years later, Hobbs was still interfering in Justin's life, maybe threatening it again. The sight renewed Brian's determination to find Justin and to get that monster off the streets for good.

"I'm sorry, Brian," Carl broke through the younger man's revery as he approached. "My guys are done here and we got no further leads. It doesn't look like the guy's been here tonight at all. I've got an APB out on Hobbs but he could be anywhere. You might as well head home. I'll let you know if I hear anything . . . "

"Fuck that, Carl!" Brian angrily cut him off. "I'm not going home to just sit around and wait. There's got to be something else we can do. Somewhere else we can look?"

"Well, I'm fresh out of ideas," Carl sluggishly replied, rubbing his tired and bloodshot eyes and stifling a nascent yawn. "If you've got any other brilliant plans, tell me now or else I'm going to head home myself and try to get some sleep."

"Shit!" Brian groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, feeling at least as tired as Carl looked. "I have no fucking idea . . . "

Before Brian could get fully launched into a fresh tirade, though, he was startled by the chiming and vibrating of his phone from his jacket pocket. He sighed in exasperation at the unwanted interruption but pulled it out of his pocket nonetheless. It took him a moment to orient the phone with his left hand before he could read the incoming text message:

'PhoneTrackerPro: Auto Location Update Available.'

The bewildered brunet tapped at the phone screen to open the app. He looked at the glowing screen for several seconds without saying anything. Then, smiling from ear-to-ear, Brian looked up from his phone at the weary, waiting police detective.

"Now that you mention it, Carl, I do have one more, slightly brilliant idea . . . "

:::::::::::::::::

Despite all his efforts, Justin must have dozed off for a bit. It was fully dark already when he was startled awake by the jarring sound of the metal gate of the cage jangling as the lock was turned and the door pulled open. Justin was immediately alert but managed to keep his body still. He didn't think Chris had noticed him waking up, which meant he might just have a chance to escape.

Hobbs was still muttering to himself, his words nonsensical and disjointed. "Have to do it . . . I HAVE to. I didn't want this but I don't have a choice now . . . Get rid of him . . . It's his fault. I don't want to do it but . . . Forest, maybe. Or the river? . . . Fuck, I don't know . . ."

Justin tried to slow down his breathing as he listened to Hobbs coming closer. He wished his ears weren't still ringing so badly - it made it harder to judge Hobbs' position with his eyes closed. His body was tensed for action underneath the thin blanket. He knew that the muscles on his right side still weren't functioning properly, but he once again thanked the fates that he'd been born ambidextrous. His left arm was working perfectly even if he was a little weak.

His captor's muted blathering came nearer and nearer and then it stopped altogether. Justin could sense the other's hulking, malevolent presence very near. It took everything he had not to move - all his senses were screaming at him to move, to run, to get away - but he forced himself to hold as still as possible.

After an agonizingly long, silent pause, Justin heard a very faint whisper of sound. "So fucking beautiful . . . I'm sorry, Taylor, but I have to . . . " The words were so gentle that he wasn't one hundred percent sure he'd heard them correctly. Still, Justin told himself to ignore the words and he forced his body to keep still.

Then, Justin heard a sigh and the rustling of clothing as the man looming over him moved slightly. The next second, the tense prisoner felt a tender touch on his forehead as Hobbs reached out to brush some loose strands of golden hair away. He couldn't help it that his body involuntarily jerked away at the loathsome touch.

Hobbs instantly pulled his hand back. He might have been about to say something or maybe even move away, but Justin didn't give him the chance. In a remarkably swift motion considering his injuries, Justin slid his left arm to the side to free it from the restriction of the blanket and then rapidly swung across his body with all the force he could muster. Hobbs didn't even have time to completely register that his victim was now armed with a shiny aluminum baseball bat before the weapon made contact with the side of his jaw. He instinctively raised his arms in defense but Justin was already swinging again, the second blow cracking loudly across Hobbs' forearm, the bone audibly snapping at the impact. The furious prisoner managed to get in one more swipe at his jailer - a painful but otherwise ineffective hit to Hobbs' lower back - as the now injured attacker turned and retreated out of the cage, slamming the door closed behind him.

Justin's last stroke had unfortunately toppled him off the pile of tote bags that had comprised his makeshift bed. The slight blond rolled onto the cold cement floor, pulling the blanket with him and exposing the now unzipped canvas tote he'd been lying on. As Justin's body hit the floor, the bag followed, spewing out its contents - a dozen or more metal and wooden baseball bats along with other practice equipment that had been waiting for the start of the baseball season.

Justin struggled, as soon as he stopped rolling, to right himself, all the while maintaining his solid grip on the bat still in his hand. Hobbs seemed dumbstruck at the reversal of roles - the victim now becoming the attacker. The stunned man simply stood outside the metal grating, watching while the tenacious blond inside the cage prepared himself in case Hobbs decided to come back for more. Taylor was holding the bat at the ready, raised over his head, willing to defend himself for as long as his strength held out.

Hobbs' moment of inaction didn't last very long. The confusion he had revealed quickly evaporated, to be replaced almost immediately by sheer unthinking rage. The transformation of his features was horrifying, Justin thought, watching as the soft, frightened look was transfigured into an ugly, furious and vindictive grimace in only moments.

"You goddamned fucking faggot!" Hobbs screamed at full volume, trying awkwardly to dig into his right-hand pocket with his uninjured left arm in order to extract the key for the gate. "I'm gonna fucking kill you, you bastard."

Justin, buoyed by his own anger at the moment, was sitting propped up against the pile of totes, braced for a renewed attack. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold out against the much stronger and heavier man for long, but he wasn't going to make it easy for Hobbs either. Justin had always been a fighter - that was never going to change.

Thankfully, Hobbs' broken arm was making it almost impossible for him to get his keys out of his jeans' pocket. The ridiculous delay was making him even more furious. His face was an angry red as he finally fumbled the keys out and then promptly dropped them. But, clearly his injured arm was draining his stamina. As he bent to retrieve the keys, Justin could see Chris' face become noticeably paler. Justin was heartened at this small sign, giving him hope that he might just win the next confrontation.

Hobbs managed to pick up the keys but was having trouble, using only his one hand, getting the right key in the lock and then manipulating the sticky lock itself. He struggled with the troublesome latch mechanism for a couple minutes, obviously becoming more and more frustrated as time ticked by. Then, suddenly, Hobbs froze, appearing to listen intently to something Justin couldn't hear over the ongoing buzz that continued to distort his hearing.

"Fuck!" was all Hobbs managed to say before he dropped his keys once again and then sped out of the room, slamming the outer door behind him.

:::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you like Justin BASHING back? Go, Justin! TAG


	13. The Retreat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah! Brian . . . And Ted (?) . . . to the rescue! Enjoy! TAG

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Chapter 13 - The Retreat.

Hobbs knew he had run out of time the second he heard the distant wail of a police siren. He let his keys fall and rushed out of the equipment room trying to think what to do as he ran. He was just rounding the corner of the building when he saw the distant reflection of the flashing lights turning onto Highgate Street as the police cars, their sirens belatedly turned off, raced towards the school.

'Shit!' he silently scolded himself, knowing that he'd never make it back to his truck in time to escape.

Instead, Hobbs turned and ran the opposite direction, sprinting off across the back practice fields towards a gap in the fencing at the rear of the property that not many people were aware of. He'd played hookey from school and practice enough times over the years that he had intimate knowledge of the best and fastest ways to get off school property. Once he was away from the school, he also knew the surrounding neighborhood well enough that he was sure he could evade the cops - at least for now.

::::::::::::::::::

The backlash from the adrenalin rush caused Justin to pass out almost as soon as Hobbs was gone. He barely had time to lay the baseball bat he'd been holding onto the ground next to his outstretched legs before he felt the world spinning around him. He knew it wasn't wise to drop his defenses just yet, but his mistreated body was through cooperating. The pain and fear took over rapidly as his vision slowly tunneled away until all he could see was a big black blur in front of his eyes. Then, giving in to the inevitable, Justin let himself collapse, falling sideways as his body slid down the stack of tote bags.

::::::::::::::::

Brian clutched at his cell phone with his good hand, falling roughly against the side door as the police cruiser rounded another corner at breakneck speed. The little locator arrow on the screen was still stationary, hovering over the same spot on the map where it had been since he'd been fortuitously reminded about the app back at Hobbs' apartment. He'd been staring at the electronic map virtually nonstop since Horvath had unceremoniously trundled him into the backseat of the unmarked police car, seating himself in the front passenger seat and ordering Ted around to the other side as he commandeered the first vehicle they'd come across after running pell mell out of the deserted apartment.

A generic uniformed officer was driving the speeding vehicle as Carl Horvath manned the radio, ordering 'All Available Units' to meet him at the front entrance of Saint James' Academy. Even with the lights and sirens blaring to clear the light Sunday evening traffic out of the way, it was still a pretty long drive out to the northern suburbs where the school was located. Brian spent the whole twenty minute trip in silence, just hanging on to the hope that Justin's phone, and optimistically Justin as well, would stay in one spot long enough for them to get there.

About three blocks from their destination, Horvath ordered the driver to cut the siren. Brian could see two other police cars, their lights flashing in synchronicity, approaching from the other end of the block. The school building looked deserted as they drove past - only the outside security lights were on. At the end of the block the driver turned abruptly into the school parking lot, taking the turn so fast that the rear wheel popped up onto the curb. The skillful driver maneuvered through the lot and then brought the car to a skidding halt between a marked police car and a large red Dodge pickup truck - the only two other cars in the lot.

Detective Horvath jumped out before the car was even completely stationary, running over to join a pair of uniformed officers standing at the far side of the pickup. Brian and Ted regrettably had to wait impatiently for the driver to open their doors from the outside before they could follow the detective. By the time they were out of the car there were several other police cars pulling into the parking lot behind them and a number of individuals boiling out, all looking very officious and authoritative and running about as if they knew what they were doing.

Carl appeared to be in his element: He was standing in the middle of a wide circle of other police officers shouting directions and pointing at people while talking into a two-way radio at the same time. “I want this entire area cordoned off - at least two blocks in every direction. Notify the Chief that we may have a hostage situation on hand. I need Wilson and the S.W.A.T. team here pronto. And, find out who the emergency contact is for the school - I need him here asap, along with blueprints of the buildings. Move, it!”

“Detective,” interrupted a young looking uniformed officer. “We ran the truck’s plates and VIN. DMV confirmed the truck does belong to the suspect. We found this in the front seat.”

“Good job, Marshall,” Carl responded with his commanding air, taking the small white iPhone out of the younger man’s hands and holding it gingerly by the edges with his fingertips. “Get forensics down here to go over the truck. Put this,” Carl indicated the phone in his hand, “in an evidence bag. Thank God he didn’t remember to turn it off this time.”

While the police did their thing, Brian and Ted just stood to the side, pretty much ignored by everyone around them. Brian quickly tired of this. If Justin was in that building, Brian couldn’t see the use in standing around outside. The assertive, self-confident businessman wasn’t one for inaction, especially when someone he cared about needed help. And, while all the police around him seemed very intent on doing something, from where he was standing it didn’t look like they were getting anywhere fast. Finally, fed up with being completely disregarded, Brian started to elbow his way through the throngs of police, trying unsuccessfully to get Horvath’s attention.

“Brian. Bri. Hey, Brian!” Ted demanded and finally got his friend’s attention, pulling the taller man back from the hordes of cops by his elbow.

“What is it now, Theodore?” Brian protested, trying to dislodge his designer shirtsleeve from the accountant’s grasp.

“You know, this Hobbs guy is the ultimate ‘jock’, right?” Ted hesitantly started.

“Yes. . . . And, how does that get us anywhere,” Brian snarked, but continued to look to his resourceful friend with a new, tiny glint of hope sparking in his eyes.

“Well, when I was in high school, I don’t remember the jocks spending all that much time in the classroom building,” Ted theorized with a sneaky smile starting to turn up the corners of his thin lips. “However, they always did get to know the pool and the gym and all the athletic rooms pretty well . . . If Hobbs wanted to hide something, or someone, he’d do it someplace he was comfortable. Someplace he knew really well, like the football stadium, maybe,” Ted opined and as he spoke he turned to his left, looking pointedly over his shoulder at the hulking football stands and outbuildings off by themselves behind the school.

“Ted, have I told you lately that you’re pretty much fucking brilliant?” Brian reluctantly admitted with a wide grin.

“Actually, no. You’ve never told me that, Brian,” Ted commented acerbically.

“Well, remind me to do it later,” Brian said, already striding down the sidewalk, away from the roil of police, heading for the asphalt pathway at the edge of the property that linked the parking lot with the distant football field and other buildings.

Detective Horvath and the other preoccupied police personnel were busy posting guards at all the school entrances, setting up roadblocks around the school and doing other obviously important things. Nobody took any notice when the two inconspicuous men who had arrived with the lead investigator, and had been standing quietly nearby, began to walk away from the building which was the main focus of the activity. Brian and Ted kept walking purposefully towards the remoter structures, trying not to seem like they were hurrying, for fear of generating some undue notice.

At each small outbuilding they passed, Ted or Brian would briefly try the door handle, but all of the small sheds they came across nearer to the parking lot were locked. The men quickly passed each of these by for the moment. They soon approached the six foot chain-link fence that circled the athletic fields and grandstands. The gates to the enclosed area were wide open, a chain with a rusty padlock hanging unused around one of the gateposts. The two explorers proceeded through the opening, both apparently with the same destination in mind - the grandstands.

The grandstand complex was an obviously newer concrete block construction taking up a large space on the sidelines of the football field. The space underneath the tall aluminum bleachers had been efficiently used to house several small rooms for the use of the athletic department. At one end, there was a commercial-type kitchen area for concession sales. Next door was a separate office with an adjacent ticket sales booth. At the far end of the building there was a long uninteresting room built into the walls of the structure with two small grungy windows high up off the ground and only one small, security door. The plexiglass windows of the concession stand and ticket office were uncovered and it was clear that there wasn’t anyone in either of those rooms, so Brian and Ted ran past those areas without even breaking their pace.

As Brian headed towards the last door in the building, Ted had already started to jog off, sure that that door would be locked like all the rest had been so far. Brian’s hand grabbed at the door handle, sure it wouldn’t turn, but was surprised as the handle easily rotated in his grip. He instantly froze. Ted, turning to see what was holding Brian up, caught his odd expression and trotted back to his friend.

“It’s unlocked,” Brian mouthed to his companion and Ted skidded to a halt next to him.

“Brian, you can’t just rush in. We don’t know what’s in there. Hobbs could be . . . “ Ted whispered, ready to be the voice of caution, as usual, but Brian stopped his friend with a glacial glare and a shake of his auburn head.

Brian didn’t want a lecture on safety right at the moment. He wasn’t going to let anything stop him now. He was sure this was where his Sunshine was - he could almost feel the other man’s presence. That monster had already had Justin for far too long as it was and Brian didn’t think he could wait even a second more.

Brian signaled to his trusty sidekick, Ted, that he was going to push the door open at the count of three. He held his fist up with three fingers extended, gesturing with each number and mouthing the words as he counted down: ‘Three . . . Two . . . One’. When the zealous man reached zero, he reached down with his uninjured left hand and twisted the doorknob, pushing the door open violently as he yelled and stormed into the depths of the dark space beyond.

Even with all his misgivings about Brian’s plan, or lack thereof, the brave little accountant sped after his larger, more foolhardy friend, entering the darkened room on the brunet’s heels. Ted didn’t go beyond the door jamb though before he groped quickly along the wall, found the light switch and turned on the lights, at which point both men swiftly saw there was no enemy in the room to combat. Brian halted his headlong rush, stifled the roar he’d been voicing and looked around sheepishly at the seemingly deserted room.

The two would-be rescue heroes looked around them and saw what appeared to be your typical athletic equipment storage room. There were piles of football helmets, soccer nets, practice cones, flags and sundry other odds and ends piled seemingly at random everywhere. The room was dingy and poorly lit, not to mention that there seemed to be a lot of trash scattered around. In the far corner there was a pile of worn-looking wrestling mats with an old sleeping bag on top which was leaking down feathers from several torn seams. Next to the mats was a stack of boxes with more trash, and empty take out food container and some hand tools lying on top and a beat up folding chair placed nearby. There wasn’t much evidence to suggest that anyone had been in the room recently.

On the left there was a separate storage area with shelving which was blocked off by a locked metal grate. The lighting in that area was piss poor and the caged off area was packed to the rafters with even more gear than this outer room, so it was difficult to make out where one pile of stuff ended and the next began. The cursory inspection that Brian gave the place didn’t turn up anything of interest, to the man’s disappointment.

Brian sighed and shook his head. He was just turning to go, when he thought he heard something - it wasn’t so much a sound as an absence of silence where there should be a complete lack of noise. But, it was enough to stop him in his tracks and make him look around the room a second time. He took a tentative step in the direction from which the sound had come and looked again, more closely, through the mesh of the metal gate which blocked off the end of the room.

In the dim light, Brian could see that there was a pile of canvas tote bags on the right hand side of the caged off area. It looked like the pile had toppled over - some of the bags had come open and their contents had partially fallen out, now lying strewn across the cement floor. At the back of the pile of bags though, Brian thought he saw movement.

“Fuck! Ted, get over here,” Brian ordered as he rattled the latch on the locked doorway, his shout bringing Ted back into the room and closer to the cage. “Do you see something over there, in the back?”

Ted, being the perpetually observant, detail-oriented guy he was, didn’t bother trying to see into the murky, ill-lit area. He simply bent over and picked up the key ring with the conspicuous “St. James’ Academy’ fob that he’d noticed lying on the floor in front of the gate. And, it only took him three tries to find a key that worked in the lock. The tetchy impatient man standing beside him unceremoniously pushed Ted out of the way the instant the lock was opened and raced into the cage, plowing through the masses of scattered equipment.

Ted couldn’t see what had caught Brian’s attention but he observed his tall worried friend freeze in his tracks as soon as he was a few paces into the little room. Brian immediately dropped to his knees, pawing at the pile of canvas to uncover something, and then let out a small plaintive cry. Ted was afraid to go any closer, not sure that he wanted to see what Brian had found.

“Ted,” Brian instructed in a pathetically small voice. “Get Horvath. Now!”

:::::::::::::::::::::

It was ‘deja vu’ of the worst kind. Brian was once again caught in that unreal position of riding in an ambulance sitting next to his unconscious boyfriend, not knowing if Justin was ever going to wake up again. He was drowning in the memories of five years ago, of Prom, and barely able to keep those images separate from what was happening right now. He felt like a tremendous pressure was hovering over him wherever he went, bowing his shoulders with an unseen weight, making it difficult to walk, to move, to breathe. The only thing still tethering him to the present was the feel of Justin’s cold hand in his - he had refused to let go of that small but important anchor for even a second since he’d found the injured blond.

Brian only vaguely remembered Horvath arriving at the small equipment room as he sat on the floor holding Justin’s unmoving body in his arms. The arrival of more police and then paramedics was all a jumbled blur of lights and colors. For some reason his hearing didn’t seem to be working right - he didn’t respond to any of the myriad of questions being thrown at him - all he could hear were the slight gasps of breath that he waited for second by second, each one proving that Justin was still alive, at least for that moment.

The arrival of the ambulance at the hospital was another series of blurry images, which Brian took little note of. He meekly followed the rolling gurney from room to room, never releasing Justin’s hand but merely moving out of the way as best he could to allow the doctors and medical staff access to the still form. Someone tried to move him away at one point, Brian indistinctly registering the sentiment that he should wait in the hall for a moment, but nothing was going to separate him from Justin’s side. He growled and struggled against the arms trying to pull him away and pry the smaller hand out of his grip, until someone else in authority told the interfering busybody to stop. After that, they just let him be, quietly standing next to the bed, and managed to work around him.

At some point, Brian finally became aware of another presence with him waiting by Justin’s bed, and he looked over, surprised for some reason to see Jennifer Taylor sitting nearby in a hard plastic chair. He had no idea how long she had been there. He could see the tracks of tears staining her fair cheeks, her hair uncharacteristically messy and her clothing in disarray. Brian thought briefly that he should say something to her, but all he could manage was a small nod acknowledging her presence. The rest of the time they waited together in silence.

::::::::::::::::::::::  
Hobbs had easily managed to get several blocks away before the police managed to seal off the area around the school. He pulled out his own cell phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and punched the speed dial number for his oldest friend. He hadn’t really talked to Will for ages, but he hoped that his buddy would still be there for him. When the phone call connected and Will agreed to come get him, he almost felt like he could cry like a little baby.

Twenty minutes later, Hobbs was sitting with Will at the back of a crowded ER intake and waiting room at Allegheny General Hospital, waiting to get a doctor to look at his broken wrist. His arm was throbbing but according to the nurse at the intake desk his injury wasn’t critical and unfortunately there might be a long wait until he could see a doctor. It seemed like a very busy night in the ER. They gave him some painkillers and told him to get comfortable and that someone would be with him as soon as possible.

When the ambulance bay doors swung open soon thereafter and a small legion of police, paramedics and others came rushing through the entrance, swarming around a rolling gurney containing a familiar, unconscious blond man, Hobbs didn’t really know what to do. He felt like bolting, but knew that would only draw attention to himself. And, since no one seemed to be paying him any attention as he huddled in the far corner of the room, he simply pulled his baseball cap down lower on his face and wiggled in his seat until he was facing even more away from the commotion across the way. He silently and surreptitiously watched the action around the new arrival from under the bill of his cap.

When the Boyfriend seemed to look right at him, Hobbs froze, but then relaxed as the tall brunet man apparently looked right through him without recognition. Hobbs smiled to himself as Kinney followed along unaware beside the gurney and the loud group of people as the whole mob was trundled out of sight into the bowels of the hospital.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter - The reunion, part 2. (Hopefully some kissy parts, finally). And, what is Hobbs going to do next? You'll have to wait and see. TAG


	14. The Emergency Room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok - Finally, Justin's getting help at the hospital and safe from Hobbs . . . or is he? (Cue evil laughter again - Bwahahaha!). TAG

Chapter 14 - The Emergency Room.

‘Of course, Princess Taylor got all the fucking help in the world as soon as he was wheeled into the ER,’ Hobbs thought. Once again, Taylor had upstaged him. It was always Taylor’s fault.

Hobbs had been sitting in the back corner of the waiting room for more than two hours now. The only sign that he was ever going to get any help was when an intern came out to get his health history and insurance info. But even that had been more than a half hour ago now and he was starting to get really pissed off. His hand hurt like hell and the meds they gave him earlier were wearing off. How long was it going to take to set his goddamned broken arm?

The only thing that forced Hobbs to keep his temper in check was the fact that he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. There were fucking police swarming all over the place, presumably checking on Taylor and taking statements and stuff. Hobbs thought that Taylor looked out of it when they brought him in, but he might have woken up by now. If so, did he tell the cops about Hobbs? Did Taylor know he’d broken Hobbs’ arm when he hit him with that fucking bat? If so, wouldn’t the cops have been looking for him here at the hospital? He’d been lucky so far that nobody had noticed him but how much longer would that luck hold out? The sooner he got his arm set and got out of here, the better. But, in order to get some attention, he’d have to get up and go confront someone at the ER desk and he didn’t want to risk being seen. He was fucked.

His buddy Will was shifting impatiently in the seat next to him. All Hobbs had told Will was that he got in a fight - he didn’t want to elaborate. They’d tried talking a little - catching up on gossip about old friends and what was going on in Will’s life - but Hobbs wasn’t really in a chatty mood and didn’t volunteer anything about his own shambles of a life. Considering how tight they’d been back in school, Will was a little taken aback at how little Hobbs was willing to share. The guy sitting next to him didn’t resemble the Hobbs he knew at all. What little conversation there had been, had died a painful death before they’d been here more than a half hour. Now, all Will wanted to do was find an acceptable excuse to get out of here.

Hobbs decided to take pity on his former friend. It wasn’t like he really wanted the guy around anyway. What did they have in common anymore, anyway? Hobbs just really wanted to be alone. Well, he wanted his arm fixed, he wanted to get out of the fucking ER waiting room, he wanted his old life back and he wanted Taylor to pay for doing all this to him - but most of all, right now, he just didn’t want to have to deal with Will.

“Will, you don’t have to hang out here with me, you know,” Hobbs offered. “If you could maybe, like, loan me a couple bucks, I can just get a cab home later.”

Will, predictably, jumped at the offer to let him escape. He pulled his wallet out, gladly forked over $20 to Hobbs and said a brusque ‘goodbye’ before hot footing it out of there. Hobbs was only mildly annoyed at how truly happy Will had looked at the thought of getting away from him. ‘So much for that friendship, too,’ Hobbs thought. Right now, though, Hobbs couldn’t find the energy to care that he’d probably just lost his last remaining friend from high school.

::::::::::::::::::::::

The doctor had been talking to them about Justin’s condition for several minutes now. Brian hoped that Jennifer was getting more than he was. He was having trouble focusing on everything that was being said because the first few words that the doctor had uttered were still echoing through his consciousness, blocking out pretty much everything else. ‘Traumatic Brain Injury’. Brian thought just hearing those words, again, might kill him.

It was like every nightmare he’d had in the past five years since the Prom. Justin was hurt again and this time he might not be as lucky as he was the first time. And, the worst part was that Brian was helpless to fix it.

‘Repetitive Injury’. ‘Evidence of cerebral edema and herniation’. ‘Intracranial pressure still higher than normal’. ‘Too late to mitigate damage from the primary injury’. ‘Increased risk of long-term neurological deficits’. 

Each new phrase the doctor uttered combined with the first in Brian’s mind and now the words were all bouncing off each other and pounding against his own skull, seeking to be released somehow. Brian wasn’t going to be able to handle much more without completely losing it. He wanted to run away, but he just couldn’t do that this time - he physically just couldn’t leave Justin’s side. But, something had to give.

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop, stop!” Brian insisted a little too loudly for the hospital setting they were in. They were the first words he’d said in hours though and his outburst surprised both Jennifer and the doctor, who both turned to look at the shattered man.

“Brian, honey . . . “ Jennifer got up from the chair where she’d been perched and walked cautiously over towards Brian, using her motherly soothing voice to try to calm the man.

“I can’t . . . I can’t do this again, Jennifer,” Brian whimpered quietly. “I can’t hear this. Just . . . fix it, alright. Just do whatever you have to do to fix it. . . make him better.” Brian turned his pleading eyes on the doctor and willed him to simply put everything right again.

“We’re doing everything we can at this point,” the nameless doctor reassured the concerned man. “As I was saying, it looks like many of the effects of this injury have already resolved themselves. Although there is evidence of prior intracranial bleeding, it’s stopped for now. We’re treating the remaining edema and swelling with diuretics and administering IV fluids to prevent hypotention at the same time. We’ll also continue the Oxygen therapy until we’re sure all the edema is resolved. For the moment, I don’t think we need to take any surgical action. Our best bet is just to wait and see what happens with the drug therapy we’ve already initiated. Once Justin is awake, we can run some tests to find out more about what long-term effects he might be experiencing. But until then, I recommend that we just wait.”

Brian didn’t even pretend to understand all the medical jargon. He just wanted to know that Justin was going to be better - hopefully, soon. There had to be some way to shut up this quack and get only the information he desperately needed.

“When,” Brian croaked out, trying to suppress the vocal tremors he knew would come out with the words if he wasn’t careful. He cleared his voice and tried again. “When will he wake up?”

“It’s impossible to say,” the doctor reluctantly admitted. “He could wake up any minute or it could be days. Brain injuries are tricky and it’s really impossible to predict. We’ll continue to monitor his brain activity along with everything else - if we see an increase of activity it will probably be a good indicator that he’s regaining consciousness. In the meantime, there’s not much else we can do. Sorry.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Jennifer managed to respond in her always polite manner, dismissing the doctor for now as she turned her priorities to comforting Brian, instinctively knowing that the usually strong man was ready to collapse at the doctor’s less than reassuring words.

Without more words, Jennifer managed to get Brian seated in the chair, which she’d pushed closer to Justin’s bed, and then stood next to him, one arm around Brian’s bowed shoulders and the other hand affectionately combing through the soft auburn tresses. With very little fuss, she wiped away the few tears that managed to trickle down his devastated countenance. Jennifer knew her son’s partner was in shock. She knew that, for the moment at least, it was his turn to break down. She would have to be the strong one for the time being. Hopefully when it all set in and she finally allowed herself to break down too, Brian would be able to return the favor.

::::::::::::::::::::

The turmoil in the ER had eventually faded and Hobbs had finally been taken to a small curtained off area where his arm was x-rayed and then his cracked radius was set. The same intern who’d taken his health history earlier got the privilege of putting a bright yellow fiberglass cast on his arm. He’d wanted a plain white cast, like a normal person, but was told that these newer fiberglass casts all come in some color or other, so he tried to choose the least offensive shade. At least it was better than the pink or the lavender - his two other choices.

Since he still hadn’t been arrested by the time the cast was dry and he’d received his discharge info, Hobbs figured that Taylor hadn’t talked yet and the cops probably weren’t looking for him here at the hospital. The question was, what should he do now? Where could he go? And, why should he even bother?

Hobbs had lost Taylor. Granted, he hadn’t really known what he was going to do with him when he had him. He had always assumed that he would have finished the boy off in the end and managed somehow to get rid of the body. But, then, while Taylor had been there in the cage . . . Well, he hadn’t really thought about it much except to put the onerous task off. Hobbs didn’t even want to think about earlier this morning, after he came in from the little talk with Trey Anderson and what he’d done then. He wouldn’t let himself remember how good it felt to lie there with Taylor in his arms. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t think about that now. But even though he wasn’t thinking about it, he still felt bad about losing Taylor. It was depressing. He wouldn’t say he felt lonely - that wasn’t what he felt at all. But, it was something . . . He felt lost.

And now, everything had gone completely to shit. Again. He hadn’t managed to do anything right - the bomb was more of a whimper than a real explosion, neither of the two fairies he’d tried to off had died, he’d lost Taylor and the cops were obviously onto him. He couldn’t go back to his pit of an apartment - the cops would undoubtedly be there already - and he’d left his car back at the school. The only cash he had on him was the $20 that Will had given him earlier and he figured that the cops would find him if he accessed his bank account or used his one remaining, already near-the-limit credit card. He had nowhere to go and nothing left to lose.

Completely at a loss as to what to do next, Hobbs picked up his prescription at the hospital pharmacy and then just shuffled back over to the ER waiting area. He plopped down in the exact same chair he’d been sitting in all night. Everything was lost. He had nowhere else to go, so he might as well stay where he was at. What did it really matter now, anyway?

:::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The annoying ringing sound in Justin’s ears was still there but it had resolved itself now into a combination humming and beeping. He actually thought the ringing had been better than this. He almost missed the ringing now because the beeping was giving him a headache. Well, he’d already had a headache, but this was making it worse, he thought.

When he managed to pry open his sleep encrusted eyelids a tiny bit, Justin noted that it was once again dark. The large segments of time he kept losing were slightly alarming. He transiently tried to guess what day and time it was, but lost interest in the question when it became only too clear that he had no way to determine the answer. In defeat, he let his eyes droop closed again.

He didn't just drop back into the peaceful blackness, even though he wouldn't have minded another break from the pain. Flickers of memory kept flashing into his consciousness. Hobbs. The equipment room at St. James. Pain. Hitting someone with an aluminum bat. More stabbing pain.

'Fuck, Hobbs!' Justin thought in renewed panic. 'Hobbs might still be here somewhere. I have to wake up. I have to stay ready.'

He blinked to try and clear his vision, trying to once again focus on his surroundings. Something was different. Even though it was night, the room was clearly brighter than he remembered it being before. The walls were white, not grey unfinished concrete. It was definitely warmer than it had been, too. It even smelled better - more 'Pine Sol' and less dirty sweatsocks.

Justin fought through another wave of dizziness and then finally managed to focus his vision a bit more. Turning his head to the right, where the beeping and humming noises seemed to emanate from, he saw a blur of red and amber lights and eventually resolved the scene in his mind enough to recognize several unfortunately familiar hospital-type machines.

‘Okay,’ Justin admitted with relief tinged with just a hint of uneasiness due to his general dislike of hospitals in general. ‘This is not St. James. I’m in a hospital. Which means that someone found me and that I’m probably safe from Hobbs. I hope.’

His mind was still fuzzy enough, though, that this logical thread of rationality went no further. Justin simply lay there for several more minutes without further thought, happy to just be warm and relatively pain free for the moment. He might have even drifted off back to sleep but then he felt movement and he turned his head to the left, looking down at the side of the hospital bed.

Lying on the edge of the bed next to his left hip, there was a tousled chestnut mop of hair nestled in the crook of a long, lean arm which was resting along the length of Justin’s thigh. The well-known bed head of his lover brought an immediate smile to his lips along with a sigh at the reassurance that he wasn’t here alone. Justin inched his left hand from where it was lying on top of the blanket covering his waist, downward until his fingers could brush against the glossy auburn tresses. He delicately feathered his fingers through the soft locks, needing the comfort of the touch but not wanting to wake Brian just yet.

Even that small movement, however, was sufficient to jar the sleeping man out of his light cat nap. Brian bolted upright, confusedly looking around at first, trying to determine what had roused him and ready to meet whatever new emergency had arisen head on. The quiet of his surroundings calmed the worried man rapidly, though. His first glance was towards the assortment of quietly pinging machines on the other side of Justin’s bed. Nothing seemed out of place amid the blinking lights and small noises there; not that he understood what all the gadgets were monitoring or what the buzzing and beeping meant, but at least nothing there seemed out of the ordinary from how it had been so far tonight.

So, Brian started to relax, the adrenaline surge dissipating through his blood quickly, as he allowed his body to slump back into the hard plastic back of the chair he’d been sitting in for the last few hours. He exhaustedly rubbed at his uninjured eye and then pinched the bridge of his nose with his still injured right hand. The past few days had been draining and the lack of sleep was catching up with him, but Brian didn’t want to be zonked out and snoozing away when Justin might need him. He shook his head to dispel the fatigue and then opened his eyes to continue his vigil.

Which is when Brian was met with the most beautiful sight he could ever remember seeing: Two azure blue eyes met Brian’s gaze, sparkling even in the low light with fiery glints of warmth and love.

“Brian,” Justin whispered hoarsely through chapped, dry lips, managing a small smile at the same time, disregarding the pain even that small motion caused him.

“Sunshine!” Brian exhaled, the nickname coming out as a moan, as the frenzied older man scrambled to clasp Justin’s smaller hand in his own.

The warmth of Justin’s hand grasped in his, stilled Brian’s momentary panic and instantly grounded him. His racing heartbeat started to slow and he felt like he was finally able to breathe again. Brian leaned over from his perch on the edge of the chair and pulled Justin’s hand to his lips, kissing the now toasty warm skin and inhaling the feeling of well-being that the touch and smell of his partner’s skin gave him.

Brian wanted to jump up and throw himself at Justin, grab his graceful, sweet body and wrap his lover in his arms, but he was also afraid to touch him, fearful of hurting the fragile boy even more. The combination made Brian almost paralyzed with equal amounts of overwhelming fear and longing. So much emotion was flooding through him right now, emotion that Brian usually kept reined in and well under control, that he was actually, physically, shaking from the strength of the feelings rolling through his body. Brian might have just sat there frozen forever if Justin hadn’t fractured the tense moment by squeezing the larger, enveloping hand that was holding his and huffing out a humored snort of amusement.

“Fuck, Justin,” Brian finally rasped with more relief than anger in his voice. “Don’t you ever fucking do this to me again. You are never - NEVER - to fucking try to die on me again, do you hear me? I can’t fucking stand this shit. You’re going to give me a goddamned heart attack before I’m even forty at this rate. . . “ Brian continued to mumble in mock indignation as he got up from the chair, hit the call button to summon the nurse and then seated himself on the edge of the hospital bed, never once relinquishing his hold on Justin’s hand and the joyful ear-to-ear grin never leaving the older man’s face.

The door to the room was pushed open just then. A nurse wearing purple scrubs bustled in to see what was what. Brian’s hulking form draped over Justin, pretty much blocked the nurse’s view of the patient and she was just about to order the man out of the way, when Brian spoke up.

“He’s awake. Get the doctor in here,” Brian ordered dismissively without even looking at the nurse, unwilling to take his eyes off the heartening sight of his lover’s now alert visage. “And, call Jennifer Taylor!”

“Right away,” the nurse replied, instinctively obedient to the tone of authority in Brian’s voice, as she disappeared back through the door into the hallway without any other comment.

Feeling once again that he had regained some control, however minimal, was enough to mollify Brian’s incipient anger. He smiled down at Justin - one of the rare, true, uninhibited smiles that Justin valued so much precisely because they were seen so seldom - and beamed his relief and love at the blond lying in the bed in front of him.

Justin still felt weak and dizzy and the throbbing in his skull hadn’t abated at all, but he hardly noticed any of that right then. His entire world had become focused on the man sitting next to him - the man he’d been trying to get back to ever since this nightmare had started. Fuck the rest of the world, as long as he had Brian, things would somehow work out. Brian’s touch alone conveyed such an immense feeling of safety and protection, that Justin knew he would be alright, now. Everything would be alright, because Brian would take care of him.

“Sunshine,” Brian said again, quietly, as if he couldn’t get enough of just hearing the name.

Then, as if the sight of Brian next to him wasn’t enough, Brian leaned over and lightly brushed his soft, warm, crushed-raspberry lips against Justin’s sore, cracked lips. The injured blond was inundated with waves of security and tenderness and love. His eyelids fluttered closed, unable to stay awake any longer and now convinced by his lover’s presence that he was once again safe.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least there's a nice schmoopy ending to this chapter. See, I'm trying to make up for all the torture I've put the boys through. TAG


	15. The New Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we have a lighter, less-gloomy chapter for you. Unfortunately, not all the drama is completely over just yet. But I thought we could all use the break for now. Enjoy! TAG

Chapter 15 - The New Plan.

He wasn’t sure what time it was. It must be pretty late - or really, really early, depending on how you looked at it - since the amount of activity in the ER had now dwindled to practically nothing. Hobbs was now the only person sitting in the waiting area. All the other patients had finally been seen to and taken to rooms elsewhere in the hospital or released. There was only one nurse left at the admitting desk and for the past hour she’d been engrossed in some tacky paperback novel, only coming up for air for the occasional phone call to the desk or to respond when some other hospital staff person passed by. Nobody seemed to pay any attention to Hobbs. So, he continued to sit there, his mind blank, at a complete loss as to what he was supposed to do next.

Just as the scenery outside the ER waiting room windows started to become discernible, the darkness outside getting fainter as the night inevitably resolved itself into a new day, Chris was jarred out of his revery by the approach of a janitor pushing along a squeaky-wheeled cart filled with cleaning supplies. The elderly white man with the exaggeratedly drooping pot-belly parked his cart a dozen feet away from where Hobbs was sitting and proceeded to round up and empty the wastebaskets located randomly around the room. The man nodded to Hobbs with a half-smile as he passed Hobbs’ seat but didn’t otherwise acknowledge him.

“Norman,” said the nurse at the admitting desk, finally rousing from her reading at the sight of the janitor. “I’m sorry to bother you, but the paper recycling in the breakroom is overflowing. Could you please empty that before the day shift starts. They’ll give me shit about it if it isn’t taken care of before I leave tonight.”

“Of course, Ms. Gretchen,” replied the amiable janitor as he shuffled off towards a nook behind the admitting desk, leaving his cart where it was for the moment.

Gretchen, the nurse, followed behind the janitor as he passed, apparently to give him more instructions on how to empty the recycling, since it was really such a difficult job and might be too complicated for a janitor whose intelligence was presumed to be higher than that of your average trained monkey. When the two of them had left, Hobbs was all alone for the first time in the huge ER waiting area. His eyes were drawn to the janitor’s cart just a few steps away from him since it really was the only new thing of interest to stare at other than the chairs and other decor that he’d already been staring at for hours.

Norman, the janitor, apparently wasn’t quite as intelligent as the hypothetical trained monkey, though. The man had left his hospital ID badge and keys sitting openly on the top of the cart. Hobbs didn’t even really think about it - he just grabbed the keys and ID, unhooked the bag of dirty laundry that was hanging off the back of the cart and quickly made his way over to the hallway that led from the ER towards the main part of the hospital.

Fifteen minutes later, Hobbs emerged from a bathroom near the hospital cafeteria, now dressed in a set of dark green hospital scrubs, the errant staff ID badge pinned to the waistband of his pants where it was partially obscured by the long hem of the shirt, with the bag of dirty laundry (now including his own clothes) slung over his back.

 

Hobbs had a new plan. Now, he just had to figure out where they were keeping Taylor.

::::::::::::::::::::::

The room was spinning: streaks of silver and white with bright splashes of color whirled around his head. Then, Justin felt a large warm hand grab his hip, stopping his body from turning and instantly the room stopped spinning too. The white and silver streaks immediately resolved themselves into streamers and balloons. The splashes of color became the brightly hued dresses and suits of the people around him. Just then his sense of hearing returned and Justin could hear strains of an oldies song . . . 'Oh I know, that the music's fine, like sparkling wine, go and have you some . . . '

Then the most beautiful image he'd ever seen walked into Justin's range of vision - Brian. His beautiful chestnut hair was slightly tousled and his face was rosy from exertion. He was dressed, impeccably as always, in a dark charcoal suit, the rumpled white tux shirt underneath unbuttoned a bit so you could see tantalizing glimpses of the golden tan skin of his chest. Brian circled around Justin, his left arm holding Justin's hand high over the blond's head, until they were facing each other and then the strong brunet wrapped his right arm around the boy's slim waist, pulling their bodies close. Two heartbeats later, the pair was gliding along the dance floor, Brian leading them in a perfectly choreographed waltz.

Brian was smiling that sweet unselfconscious smile that Justin saw so rarely. Then Brian even laughed, the sound full of abandoned joy and fun. Justin was mesmerized by the light tinkling notes that seemed to drift around him, mixing the laughter with the glitter sparkling in the air until he couldn't see where the sparkling laughter ended and the glittery confetti began.

The two beautiful enraptured men twirled about, the rest of the room fading into the background. Brian's large, expressive hazel eyes were the only things that could hold the giddy blond's attention. Nothing in the rest of the world mattered right now. The only thing Justin could see was the unmistakable love shining out of his partner's eyes. That glimpse of the forbidden emotion made everything in Justin's world bright and happy and whole. Everything was right. This was how everything was meant to be.

The dancing seemed to go on and on and on. Each step either of the lovers took was perfectly choreographed. Not even the ground would dare to trip up this particular waltz. But since even perfection must eventually come to an end eventually, the refrain of the music circled back towards the chorus and the final line of the song was imminent.

'Oh baby, save the last dance for me . . . '

Brian spun Justin around one last time. Then, as the music started to fade, the guiding right arm circled even more tightly around the younger man's waist and Justin felt his upper body being dropped backwards in a deep and elegant dip. He laughed in sheer amusement at the playful move, crooking his right leg up around Brian’s and letting his head fall back almost to the floor below. Then Brian’s strong arms pulled him back all the way upright and into a passionate embrace, the length of their bodies pressed firmly together.

For one frozen moment, the blue eyes locked with the hazel, and everything was perfect. Justin could never again doubt Brian's love from that moment on. His green and gold eyes revealed everything he'd been trying to hide in his heart for so long. Then, as if to seal their joy, Brian bent to capture his lover's full coral pink lips in a heart-stopping kiss.

The warmth of those dream lips pressed against his was palpable. Justin could even feel the moist heat of Brian's breath on his face, the familiar scent of sweetened coffee and cinnamon comforting and arousing at the same time. He didn't want to open his eyes and dispel the magic of this wonderful dream, so Justin kept his eyelids firmly closed.

Then, Justin felt Brian's fingertips move up to his face, trailing lightly down his cheeks and over his jaw. The delicious kiss deepened and the sensations were amplified by his lack of sight. The sleepy boy’s immediate reflex was to lean into that soothing touch and to bring his own hands up to entwine his fingers with those of his lover. So he did just that, wrapping his own grip around the strong wrists and revelling in the instant spark of recognition he got when his hand touched the bare skin of Brian’s forearm.

Except that’s when the first note of discord interrupted the flow of the beautiful dream. Justin’s left hand reached up at the same time as his right, but instead of contacting smooth, warm skin, he instead felt rough fabric and an edge of scratchy velcro strapping - sensations that just didn’t belong in his perfect dream of kissing Brian. The inconsistent touch of something that wasn’t his Brian’s soft smooth skin, jarred the boy out of his dream and he reluctantly let his eyes drift open.

As the darkened sapphire eyes fluttered open, Justin could see that it hadn’t been just a dream after all. Even after his eyes were open, the kissing went on, as did the tender, light caresses against the sides of his face and jaw. The overhead lights weren’t turned on and the weak light coming in through the nearby window wasn’t strong enough to light up much of his surroundings, but there was more than enough light for Justin to register the beautiful face of the man right in front of him. It was Brian, of course - his dreamland impressions hadn’t mislead him - he’d known those lips, those tender touches and that kiss even while he was unconscious. However, there was something not quite right with the image of Brian he now saw before him.

Justin immediately came fully awake and pulled back from the amorously kissing lips of his lover far enough that he could get a good look at Brian, who was obviously a little the worse for wear this morning. The incongruous feeling of Brian’s right wrist was apparently due to a sturdy looking canvas mesh and hard plastic brace strapped onto the brunet’s forearm and hand. And, to further disconcert Justin, Brian’s gorgeous countenance was marred by a nylon patch covering the man’s right eye.

“Shit, Brian!” Justin rasped out indignantly - his voice quiet and creaky but insistent - outraged that someone had hurt his man and more worried about the extent of Brian’s injuries than his own at the moment. “What happened to you? Are you okay?”

“Shhh, Sunshine,” Brian hushed him with a finger pressed lightly to the boy’s dry cracked lips. “I’m just fine. You’re the one who’s in the hospital, for fuck’s sake. You need to calm down and not get all upset, okay.”

“But, your eye . . . .” Justin protested as he reached up to delicately touch the edge of the eye patch as if to lift it up and check underneath to more fully assess any damage. Brian grabbed Justin’s hand though and gently laid it back on top of the light hospital blanket covering young man’s chest.

“I’m fine, Justin. Really. I have a small scratch on my cornea that the doctors said will heal on it’s own. I’m only wearing the patch to keep it covered because the light hurts. I’ll be okay in a few days.” Brian was quick to reassure the worried blond before the boy vaulted out of the hospital bed to come to his lover’s aid.

“You, on the other hand, Sunshine, need to stay still and stop floundering around before you puncture a lung or something. You have a third degree concussion, multiple cracked and bruised ribs and you have cuts and bruises all over. Plus, you’re severely dehydrated. If you don’t lie still so you can start to heal, I’m going to tie you to the fucking bed. That’s after I implant a GPS tracking chip in your fucking neck so that you can’t ever get lost on me again.” Brian continued to complain at Justin as he affectionately but forcefully replaced Justin’s arms at his sides and tucked the blankets tightly back in around his thin body as if he was swaddling a newborn. “You’re not fucking allowed to get kidnapped or beat up ever again, you hear me? You’re not allowed to go back to that shit hole apartment that has no fucking security at all - you’re definitely NOT allowed to use that reeking filthy communal toilet. You are not ever going to scare me like this again, or I won’t ever let you out of my fucking sight, you stupid little twat. Fucking Hobbs . . . “

Brian’s voice died off as he looked quickly over at Justin to see if he’d said too much - he didn’t want to bring up anything that would upset his injured blond. The concerned, pacing, ranting man was relieved to see that Justin was merely sitting in his bed where Brian had bundled him and was watching the brunet’s antics with a sweet little grin on his face. The blankets were pulled up to the boy’s chin and he looked even younger than his 22 years but Brian thought that he looked safe enough - finally - and decided to take a deep breath and stop with the ranting.

When Brian at last fell back into the hard plastic chair next to the big hospital bed and grinned up at the patient sheepishly, Justin finally let out the guffaw he’d been trying to hold back during his man’s little queen out. Brian was too happy to see Justin alive and awake to take offense - he even huffed out a bit of a laugh himself, shaking his head in denial at the same time. The laughter relieved a bit more of the stress he’d been holding onto since Justin had first gone missing. Meanwhile, the two happy men simply stared at each other, filling their eyes with the sight of the other man, not really needing to talk for the moment.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hobbs had been wandering around the hospital corridors for a while now, trying to look busy while keeping his eyes open to see if he could find any clues as to where Taylor might be. He didn’t want to risk asking anyone to help him find the guy, since he didn’t know if the police were still around and were looking for him or not. But, using his disguise as a hospital employee, he’d been able to wander around pretty freely and had at least ruled out a couple of possible wards.

He knew from his earlier time spent loitering in the ER that Taylor couldn’t still be down there. He also managed to take a quick look around the ICU ward and didn’t see the blond anywhere. Hobbs had even braved a look around the surgical waiting rooms to see if he could locate either the Boyfriend or others of Taylor’s friends and family which would be an indication that his victim was still in surgery - there wasn’t anyone down there he recognized, though. That meant that Taylor had probably been admitted to a room on one of the regular floors. By further ruling out the pediatrics wing, the oncology wing, the burn unit and the maternity ward, he had narrowed the possibilities down to the south wing of floors three through six which were used primarily for general admissions and non-infectious surgical patients.

So, that is where Hobbs had been concentrating his wanderings this morning. He’d already walked all over the sixth floor, looking surreptitiously at the names on each chart at every occupied door. So far, there was no sign of Taylor. The determined man with the one-track brain was now off to do the same with the fifth floor.

Hobbs hefted his bag of dirty laundry over his shoulder again, using it as an integral part of his costume, but trying to avoid jostling his broken left arm which was throbbing with pain in spite of the cast right now. It was definitely time to take another pain pill, he thought. As soon as he trudged down the stairs and pulled open the stairwell door for the fifth floor, he dropped his laundry bundle again, defty dug through it to find his pain meds which were still in the pocket of his jacket which was, in turn, hidden in the bag. After delving a little, he located the bottle, pulled it out and immediately started looking for a drinking fountain where he could wash down the meds.

About halfway down the fifth floor corridor, he saw an overhead sign indicating the location of a men’s toilet. Hobbs, assuming that there would be a nearby water fountain, headed that way, dragging his laundry behind him, too tired to heft it up again. The tall ex-jock was in pain and not really paying much attention to what was around him at that exact moment. He was fixated on just getting to the restroom and downing his next dose of painkillers. Which is probably why he didn’t see that just around the corner from the men’s room, down a short side corridor, there was a police guard standing watch outside one of the hospital rooms.

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Brian wasn’t known for having an abundance of patience under normal circumstances. He thought he’d been doing quite well so far this morning - seeing as he hadn’t slept hardly at all in the past three nights and had spent almost the entire time at this fucking hospital. But, he wasn’t a fucking saint and, after two hours of nonstop doctors and police questioning and prodding his blond, he was completely out of patience.

Going into uber-protective mode (like he hadn’t been there already most of the last night and this morning), Brian determined it was time for all the well-meaning nosy do-gooders to get the hell out and leave Justin so the boy could get some rest. They could all come back and ask their repetitive and useless questions some other time. Right now, he could see that Justin was getting tired and was in pain, again, and the young man just needed some peace and quiet.

“Enough!” Brian roared, standing up abruptly and taking the police detective who’d been taking Justin’s statement completely by surprise. “Justin’s tired. You’ll have to come back later.”

“I really need to get this report filed, Mr. Kinney,” the detective began to object as Brian authoritatively pulled the man out of his chair and started pushing him unceremoniously towards the door. “Detective Horvath has made this case a priority and I need to just . . . “

Justin didn’t hear what the detective ‘just needed’, since the rest of the man’s sentence was cut off when Brian pulled the door to the room closed right in his face. The weary patient smiled affectionately up at his personal bodyguard, amused by Brian’s possessiveness and too tired to point out that he didn’t need to be quite so overprotective. The police had informed him that Hobbs was still on the loose - Justin wanted the man caught and put away for good and thought that if the police needed to question him to get that accomplished, then he would gladly answer their questions. He was getting pretty bushed though. Maybe Brian was right and the rest of the questions could wait a while.

“Brian,” Justin said, thinking he’d try again to get the solicitous man to take a break himself. “You should go get some rest yourself or at least go get some coffee and something to eat. I’m just going to sleep for a while. I’ll be fine here alone. You said Horvath put a guard outside my door, right? So, please just go get some rest so I don’t feel so guilty for making you into such a mess.”

“I don’t want to go right now, Sunshine,” Brian actually whined - a sure sign he was more tired than he would admit. “I’ll get something later or call Debbie to bring me by something, or . . . .”

“Brian, stop. You need sleep. Go.” Justin ordered, trying to get his voice to sound commanding even though he still couldn’t really hack it. “I’ll be fine. Now, go!”

“Sunshine. . . .”

“Brian. . . “

“Fine,” Brian conceded when Justin accompanied that last entreaty with a pouty look and his sad puppy-dog eyes. “I’ll just go get a shower, though, and change clothes. I’ll be right back. I don’t really need to sleep yet, I’m fine . . . “ Brian’s sentence faded out into a huge yawn, completely negating everything he’d just been trying to assure Justin about.

The weary brunet knew arguing was now useless. When Brian was finally able to stop yawning, he dismissed Justin’s giggles with a shake of his head, left his blond with a quick peck on the forehead and merely waved as he shuffled out the door. Outside Brian waved at the uniformed officer sitting in the chair next to Justin’s door. The man looked up from the magazine he had been paging through and nodded at the man waiting to speak with him.

“I’m leaving for a bit, Bob,” Kinney addressed the officer he’d met the day before informally. “Justin needs to get some rest so can you please keep any visitors away for awhile. I’ll be back in a few hours after I get a shower and a quick nap.”

“No problem, Mr. Kinney,” Officer Winston assured the already retreating man, smiling at the mega-yawn Brian didn’t try to cover up as he turned away.

Brian didn’t see the monstrous yawn the officer himself couldn’t stop just as the older man left. Winston had been on double shifts since the bombing last Thursday - pretty much everyone at the precinct had been and would continue working long hours until this thing was solved, he thought. He was glad to be doing guard duty so that he could at least sit down for a while. The officer turned back to his magazine and flipped forward a few pages, yawning again uncontrollably. On the other hand, sitting around here all day was likely to be incredibly boring. Winston just hoped he’d be able to stay awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivial Fact of the Day - Winston was the name of my favorite cat! I love to use his persona in my fics. Unfortunately, Winston did like to sleep an awful lot. I wonder how that will play out in this little story . . . hmmmmmm? TAG


	16. The Hostage Situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you were hoping I'd get you off that last cliff sooner rather than later - Well, sooner it is. But, I don't promise that this chapter really resolves anything. He he he. (Being an evil author is so very rewarding!) TAG.

Chapter 16 - Hostage Situation.

Fuck! His arm still hurt! ‘How the fuck long did it take those meds to start working,’ thought the tall stocky blond. Hobbs had located the drinking fountain on the fifth floor fairly quickly and had downed the pain relievers the ER doctor had prescribed. Then, he’d ducked into the men’s room to lay low while he waited for the meds to work. But that had been more than twenty minutes ago and his arm was still throbbing. It probably wasn’t helping matters that he was absolutely exhausted by this point and had been awake for more than twenty-four hours straight. But, he had a plan now and that was enough to keep him on his feet and moving for the time being. Hobbs was determined to find Taylor’s room. He knew he wouldn’t get another chance like this and he wasn’t going to leave this hospital until he found the little fucker and finished this once and for all.

Agonizingly painful arm though, or not, he wasn’t going to find Taylor hiding out here in the toilet. Hobbs took a deep breath and decided to get moving again. He managed to heft his laundry sack back up onto his shoulder and headed out the restroom door.

Outside the bathroom, he turned to the right - opposite from the stairwell he’d come in by - and walked around the corner into the long arm of the hallway. As soon as he’d rounded the corner, however, Hobbs froze in his tracks. Not more than a dozen paces down the hall was a cop sitting in a chair next to the door of one of the patient rooms.

Shit! He knew that the police were probably actively looking for him by now. He’d been lucky so far that nobody in the hospital had recognized him. But, he knew his luck wouldn’t hold out forever.

The boyfriend and that Schmidt guy had to have told the authorities about the scuffle in Taylor’s apartment - that had to be why they had all turned up at the school. After finding Taylor there, he knew that they’d be after him. Would this cop recognize him if he tried to walk past? Even dressed up as a hospital employee, they might recognize him. By now, Hobbs figured they’d have out an APB and maybe have even run his picture on the local news stations. Maybe everyone already knew who he was and what he’d done. What if that football girl had seen the news reports and told the authorities what she saw? What if Trey or Paul had ratted on him to the cops. Fuck! What if Will had told the police that he’d left Hobbs at the hospital last night? They might have the whole hospital staked out. They were probably just waiting for him to stick his nose out of the right door, like a rat caught in a trap. They would all know by now and he’d never escape the shame.

While all these paranoid thoughts flooded his brain, Hobbs was unable to move. He just stood there in the fifth floor corridor with his bag of stinky, foul laundry draped over his back and stared at the cop, waiting for him to rise and come arrest him. The guilt felt like a lead ballast tied to his legs and holding him in place. He couldn’t move. The thought that this cop knew about him, knew of his failings, knew that he couldn’t get away from his horrible life and these degrading thoughts he had about Taylor, knew that he was a failure - all these thought and more kept running on a loop through his brain negating any real rational thought. He was sure it was probably all over the news by now and everyone in the state - fuck, everyone in the country - probably already knew all about how he’d been infected and was now a fairy faggot like Taylor and his friends. It was too much. It was so unfair. How had his life come to this!

However, after standing there immobilized for more than a couple minutes without the cop even looking in his direction, Hobbs’ brain unfroze just enough that he wondered why the police officer hadn’t yet come to arrest him. At that very moment, the cop let out a big snuffling snore and dropped the rolled up magazine he’d been holding in one hand, his head tilting backwards to lean more comfortably against the wall behind his chair with his mouth wide open and the loud snoring now bellowing out through his rather large nose. The cop’s new, completely undignified pose, elicited a quiet snort of laughter from the worried fugitive as soon as Hobbs realized he wasn’t in any danger of this particular cop stopping him. Hobbs almost giggled in relief, but stopped himself at the last moment, not wanting to make any noise.

The wanted man figured that his luck must still be holding. He therefore grabbed hold of his waning courage and continued to shuffle down the hall, looking at the patient name on each door as he walked past. When he reached the doorway with the sleeping cop seated nearby, Hobbs thought at first that he should just skip that room - he didn’t want to get any closer to the cop than he absolutely had to - but, the guy seemed so fast asleep that, in the end, Hobbs decided to risk it.

And, there it was! The name he’d been searching for all morning: Taylor, Justin. It was written in large black sharpie marker on the top of the chart sitting in the little plastic tray affixed to the wall on the right side of the door. Finally!

Now, to end this.

::::::::::::::::::::::

Brian had managed to speed back to the loft, shower and change in record time. He knew he should try to sleep, but he just couldn’t. Not without Justin here. It was hard enough sleeping alone these days (not that he’d admit that to the silly little twat), let alone sleeping solitary here when he knew Justin was still in the hospital and still hurting. The exhausted man figured that, until Justin was out of the hospital, the only place he’d get any sleep would be in the hard plastic chair next to his boy’s bed. It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was that he’d found Justin and the blond was safe. Justin would get better and then come home to the loft and then they could both sleep - together - in their bed where they both belonged. Brian just hoped it would be soon.

So, as quickly as he could, Brian bustled back out of the loft, got in the Vette and drove straight back to the hospital. He did stop to pick up a bag of take out food at the Double Day’s Famous Burgers on the way to - it was Justin’s favorite fast food place but, since Brian regularly and loudly denigrated the greasy high-calorie food, Justin rarely got to indulge. Brian thought that after everything he’d been through, Justin deserved to be indulged just this once and therefore he went out of his way to pick up his boy’s favorite meal. He didn’t even care if this seemed overly sentimental to anybody.

As Brian came rushing through the front door of the hospital with the greasy fast-food take out bag and a cardboard drink caddy in hand, he literally ran into Carl Horvath. The older detective had just come in through a side door and, like Brian, was headed for the elevators up to Justin’s room. The drink caddy tipped immediately and spilled its contents down the sleeve of Carl’s unattractive brown houndstooth sports jacket.

“Watch the fuck where you’re going,” Brian growled at man who had just spilled Justin’s soda and his coffee, before he recognized the man wearing the atrocious jacket.

“I was watching where I was going, Kinney. You’re the asshole running through a hospital tossing your food all over the place,” Carl groused as he grabbed a wad of napkins out of Brian’s take out bag and tried to sop up some of the messy liquid.

Brian was sure that there was no way to make the ugly shapeless jacket look any worse, so he wasn’t all that upset about the mishap, but Carl was still cursing him out under his breath. He thought briefly about offering to by Horvath a new jacket just to shut him up, but then realized he had no idea where to find a replacement that would be equally hideous. Fuck it, Horvath and the jacket would survive and Brian was wasting time down here when he could be upstairs with his blond. Therefore, Brian didn’t bother to respond to the ongoing diatribe from the wet detective, and merely scooted around the irate man and resumed his trek towards the elevators.

“Hold up there, Kinney,” Horvath growled again at the retreating brunet, half-running to catch up to the other man before he could escape to the nearest elevator. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, son. Where do you get off kicking my detective out of the room when he was trying to get Justin’s statement and complete his report. Roberts said you practically threw him out of Taylor’s room this morning. Do I need to remind you that this is an active crime investigation and you have no authority to tell my officers when or how to do their duty. . . .”

The lecture went on for several minutes. Brian had determined that the quickest way to get away from Horvath so he could get back to Justin was to just let the older man spout for awhile and get whatever it was out of his system. Brian wasn’t really listening and wasn’t about to apologize, so he just stared blankly at the ranting man and waited impatiently till he was through.

“Are you done?” Brian asked when Horvath’s lecture eventually ground to a halt. The policeman was unsure that anything he was saying had even registered in the anxious brunet’s consciousness, but he also realized that making a second attempt to get through to him would be wasted effort, so he gave up for now and just nodded.

“Good,” was Brian’s only comment as he hit the elevator call button again and then promptly stepped in through the doors as they opened.

Horvath just huffed out a laugh and followed Kinney into the elevator.

As soon as the elevator stopped on the fifth floor and the doors had inched open barely wide enough for a body to slide through, Brian was off at a lope towards Justin’s room. Horvath followed at a more reasonable pace. When they neared the end of the hallway where the patient’s room was located, both Brian and Carl realized at the same time that something was wrong. The police guard who was supposed to be watching the room was slouched down in his chair and snoring loudly - completely oblivious to everything going on around him.

“Winston! What the fuck is goin' on here!” roared Horvath, waking his sometime guard with a start, interrupting right in the middle of one loud snore and causing the sleeping man to snort and sputter loudly for several moments in confusion before he could reply.

Brian didn’t wait to hear the rest of the dressing down that Horvath was going to give his man. He rushed into the room, focused solely on making sure that Justin was alright. Unfortunately, things were definitely NOT alright inside Justin’s room.

Brian was absolutely stunned by what he saw as he came into the room. Standing over Justin’s bed was the LAST person he ever wanted to see again and definitely not a person he wanted anywhere near his partner. Christopher Hobbs was here, in Justin’s room, and he was standing over the blond’s bed, holding the sleeping patient’s hand in his right hand and pointing a gun at his victim’s head with his other hand.

:::::::::::::::::::

Horvath was still berating Officer Winston for falling asleep while on duty outside the door to Justin Taylor’s room when the two men heard the lock inside click. Carl reached over to the door and pulled at it ineffectively, confirming that the click meant someone inside had locked them out of the patient’s room. The lead detective was already in a pissy mood after a rather long morning and finding his officer asleep on the job definitely hadn’t made matters any better. He was not amused by Kinney’s antics in locking the door now. Carl had work to do - he needed to finish the interview with Taylor and get back to the station to coordinate the search for Hobbs. Screw Kinney if he thought now was a good time for a little hanky-panky with his boyfriend. They could fool around later. Right now, Horvath was just getting even more pissed off.

“Kinney! Unlock this door, you asshole. I need to finish up with Taylor and get back to the station. You can suck each other off when I leave!” Carl yelled through the door, knocking loudly when his words alone got no response.

There was no response at all to Horvath’s knocking and yelling. In fact, it was eerily quiet - there was no noise whatsoever coming out of the locked hospital room. The veteran policeman knew immediately that something was very wrong.

Horvath thrust his right hand under the lapel of his jacket and pulled his service revolver out of its shoulder holster. He made sure the safety was off and was just about to knock again on the locked door when he was interrupted by a startled gasp from the uniformed officer standing next to him. Horvath looked over at a confused and shamefaced Robert Winston, still staring blankly at his hip holster where his own gun was supposed to be. The strap that would normally hold the gun in place was unsnapped and the leather strap was flapping freely. There was no gun there. A quick survey of the area around the chair where the officer had been napping didn’t turn up the missing gun either.

Winston looked up at his commanding officer with a face full of worry and apology. Carl Horvath growled at him but didn’t say anything - there wasn’t really time for that now. If the seasoned detective’s instincts were right, and for once he hoped that he WASN’T right, there was a high probability that they’d find Winston’s missing gun along with their missing principal suspect inside this locked room with the victim they were supposed to have been protecting.

::::::::::::::::::

Brian had been so stunned by what he found that he was slow to react. Hobbs, though, had reacted immediately as soon as the Boyfriend had come storming in. With a slow, vindictive smile aimed in the Boyfriend’s direction, Hobbs cocked the hammer on the gun he was holding and ordered Kinney brusquely, “Lock the door!”

With the gun pointing directly at Justin’s temple, Brian could barely breathe, let alone move.

“I said, Lock the Fucking Door!” Hobbs directed in a louder voice, jarring Brian’s attention away from the unconscious blond in the bed and onto the sneering ex-jock. “Move it, now, or I’ll shoot him.”

Brian moved quickly then. He was only a pace away from the extra-wide solid wood door. It took only a moment for Brian to turn to the door, flip the lever that would slide the lock into place and then turn back to the tableau inside the room. Brian was just about to take another step forward, intent on getting to Justin, when he was interrupted by another imperative from Hobbs.

“Stop right there! Don’t come any closer,” the gunman demanded.

Brian immediately obeyed, holding up both hands in a ‘surrendering’ motion, trying not to startle the armed and jumpy man that was still holding a gun on his partner. When Hobbs indicated with a jerk of his head that he wanted Brian to move over towards the far side of the bed, the worried older man complied without comment. As soon as the tall brunet was far enough away from the door, Hobbs ordered him to sit down in the hard plastic chair where Brian had been sitting most of the previous night. Unfortunately the chair had been pushed back away from the bed and Brian wasn’t close enough to reach out to Justin or get any closer to Hobbs. All he could do was sit there, a couple meters away from the bed and watch Hobbs, hoping that the psycho wasn’t going to do anything more to hurt his lover.

“Fuck! Now what? Why is everything always going wrong? . . . . I just want to make things right again. . . . the way they were before. . . You understand that, right? I didn’t really want to hurt you. . . . You left me no choice. . . Why did you do it, Taylor? Why? . . . I just can’t do this anymore. Everyone KNOWS. . . . I want my fucking life back, Taylor! I want to be normal again. Why did you do this to me? . . . . “

Hobbs’s whispers kept going on and on. Brian could only hear one word in ten but what he did hear was freaking him out. He knew that Hobbs had to be deranged to have tried to bomb the club and to hold Justin prisoner in their old high school, but he wasn’t prepared to hear just HOW deranged the man truly was. The babbling, ranting monologue just kept on, the man’s skewed reasoning leading him in endless loops. And, all the while, Hobbs was holding and stroking Justin’s hand, caressing his arm and smiling down on the sleeping form like he would a lover.

The most creepy thing of all was the way Hobbs was using the barrel of the gun he still had pointed at Justin’s head to playfully brush through the beautiful golden locks. Each time the gun moved against the sleeping man’s temple, it literally made Brian sick to his stomach. Luckily, Hobbs was so focused on the object of his obsession that he was no longer paying attention to the Boyfriend in the corner and he missed the disdainful looks that the brunet kept shooting his way.

All this time, Brian could hear Horvath outside the door, knocking and yelling, but he didn’t have time to focus on what the man was yelling. He had to keep watch on Hobbs and Justin right now. Carl would have to figure things out for himself. Brian wasn’t going to answer the police or do anything else that might jeopardize his lover’s life. Right now it seemed that Hobbs might have forgotten his very presence, which was good. If he just sat quietly, Brian would be able to watch out for Justin and hopefully stop Hobbs from doing something drastic.

At least that was what Brian was hoping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since you didn't like that last cliff, how do you feel about this new one I moved you to? Sorry - I keep trying to conquer my evil author leanings but its just not working. I'm just compelled to keep leaving you readers in these terrible, awkward places. I just can't seem to help myself. Please leave me lots of angry reviews as punishment. Thanks for reading. TAG


	17. The Standoff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for an INTENSE chapter? Read on and Enjoy! TAG

Chapter 17 - The Standoff.

“Kinney! Open the fucking door, Kinney! What the fuck are you thinking - Get this door open right now!” Horvath shouted for the twentieth time as he continued to hammer on the hospital door with his fist. “I swear to God, Kinney, if you’re just in there screwing around with your boyfriend and ignoring me, I’ll haul your ass off to jail as soon as I get this goddamned door open.”

There still was nothing but absolute silence coming from inside Justin’s room. Carl’s bad feeling about this situation was merely intensifying as the seconds ticked by. However, if he was wrong about this and he raised a huge fuss - if, when they did get the door open, all they found was two guys fucking in a hospital bed - he’d not only have egg on his face but probably have his ass handed to him by the chief. Normally, he wouldn’t put that type of stunt past Kinney, but considering how worked up the usually sanguine and professional man had been the last few days over what had happened to his partner, Carl didn’t think that Kinney would be screwing around like this. Shit. The detective had to make a call and he had to do it now.

He decided to go with his gut.

“Excuse me! Excuse me! This IS a hospital. What the hell do you think you’re doing? You can't be yelling and pounding on doors and making all this noise," came an officious and angry voice followed immediately by an officious and angry looking nurse wearing light blue scrubs and an authoritarian scowl, who was apparently unhappy about all the noise Carl was making in her hallway.

Carl didn't have time to deal with officious. "Pittsburgh PD, ma'am. I need you to get whoever is in charge of Hospital security up here immediately. I want this entire building on lockdown in ten minutes or less," the experienced detective ordered, ignoring the shocked look on the officious face and the stuttering, questioning 'what's. "Go. Now!" Horvath demanded loudly and, as the officious and now frightened nurse scurried back to her station, he turned his attention to the uniformed officer waiting next to him.

"Winston. Call the station. Tell Juarez what's going on and get me some backup. Also, I need somebody with a 'scope up on the roof of that building across the street. Hopefully we'll be able to see what's going on inside through the window. Move, Winston."

The chagrined officer trotted down the hall, pulling his cell phone out as he went. There still wasn't any sound coming out of the locked room. Carl put his ear to the crack of the door and listened intently for several seconds but still heard nothing except, maybe, someone talking very quietly - too low for him to be sure he was even hearing it, let alone make out any words.

Horvath fished his own cell phone out of his jacket pocket, flipped it open and spent a minute scanning through old calls to find the number he wanted. He pushed the button to dial the number he eventually located, waiting nervously to see if anyone would answer. The muffled but distinct sound of a ringing phone could be heard inside the locked room.

:::::::::::::::::::

Brian watched the surreal scene in front of him, unable to think or act at all because of the complete mind-numbing fear washing over him. The most violent and dangerous man he'd ever had the misfortune to meet was standing next to his lover's bed, a gun held loosely in the fingers of the man's cast-bound left arm while he tenderly petted, stroked and caressed Justin's face with the other undamaged hand. The confused gunman continued to mutter and whisper the entire time, a mixture of threats, accusations and endearments, apparently directed at the still unconscious blond.

Brian was glad that Justin wasn't awake for all this. After everything he'd already been through this week . . . shit, this was the last thing Justin needed to deal with. However, Brian was concerned about just why his blond was still unconscious. Brian hoped, desperately, that Justin was simply sleeping, worn out from his ordeal. Why wasn't all this activity waking Justin up? Had Hobbs already done something more to hurt him? Brian was aching to go to him, to touch him and hold him and reassure himself that Justin was still okay. But he didn't dare as long as that gun was still pointing at the man he desperately loved.

So far Hobbs had seemed oblivious to the hammering and yelling at the door. His interest seemed wholly focused on the sleeping blond beauty in the bed next to him. Brian wasn't even sure Hobbs remembered his own presence. The wary brunet thought it was much better if Hobbs DID forget about him - he was trying to remain as still as possible to avoid drawing any of the man's attention.

It really was too much to hope for, though. Just as Brian was thinking this, the cell phone in his pocket began to chime loudly. The insistent piercing ringing startled the gunman, causing him to visibly jump at the very first ring. Hobbs glared over at Brian as if accusing the Boyfriend of intentionally trying to distract him. Brian instantly held his hands up and away from his body in a surrendering motion.

When Hobbs didn't take any further action, Brian decided to try to engage the man, thinking to hopefully distract the lunatic from the defenseless blond.

"Do you want me to answer that?" Brian asked in as non-threatening a tone as he could manage. "I assume it’s my police friend who's been hammering at the door and threatening to break in here."

Hobbs seemed confused and a little surprised to discover there was even someone else in the room. He truly hadn’t even registered the ruckus coming from outside the door. Hobbs looked over briefly at the door as if just then realizing someone was still knocking and hollering for admittance. By the fifth or sixth ring of Brian’s cell, he seemed to finally recollect his predicament.

"Go ahead and answer," Hobbs directed Brian, still in an unsure and hushed voice.

The caller ID, as expected, showed Brian that it was indeed Horvath who was calling. He tapped the 'accept call' button and moved the phone to the side of his face so he could listen effectively.

"Hello, Carl," Brian drawled into the phone.

"What the hell's going on in there, Kinney?" Horvath demanded imperatively and without any preliminaries.

"Justin and I have an unexpected visitor," Brian calmly explained, his eyes locked on Hobbs' as the gunman carefully watched every move the worried man made.

"Chris Hobbs?" Horvath asked succinctly.

"Bingo. You got it on the first guess, Carl." Brian responded, unable to completely control his customary snark even in these dire circumstances.

"Is he armed? We think he took Winston's gun," Carl asked.

"Oh, yes. He's definitely armed. He's pointing the gun at Justin's fucking head right now."

"Shit!" Carl swore so loudly that Brian winced and had to pull the phone away from his ear, and you could hear the echoes coming in through the closed door on the other side of the room.

"Just hang on, Kinney. Don't try anything stupid. We're handling matters out here," Carl added as soon as he'd wrapped up his cursing spree and spat out a couple of additional orders to the crowd of people gathering around him. "Now, give the phone to Hobbs so I can talk to him directly."

"It's for you," Brian said with a half-smirk as he offered the phone to Hobbs.

:::::::::::

"That's the third time we've had to pull over for emergency vehicles to pass," Jennifer commented as she transitioned the car back into the lane of traffic after the police car had passed. Her daughter, Molly, who was strapped into the passenger seat next to her, merely nodded and went back to looking at her phone. "I hope there isn't some big accident up ahead," Jenn added, persistently trying to initiate conversation with her uninterested teenaged daughter.

Just as she was pulling into the parking structure across the street from the main hospital building, another police car followed by a fire truck sped around the corner behind them, sirens screaming. Jennifer was distracted from the commotion by finding a parking space, then trying to roust Molly and get her to help carry in the large bunch of 'Get Well' balloons they were bringing to Justin, while she toted the overnight bag of clothes and toiletries she'd picked up for her son on their way. It wasn't until they walked out onto the sidewalk next to the parking garage that the pair of blond's noticed all the frenetic activity going on around the entrance to the hospital.

The string of police cars that had passed them earlier was now lined up in the street in front of the main hospital entrance, blocking all access to the building. There were yards and yards of bright yellow 'Police' tape strung up between the cars and around the doorways, holding back a large crowd of people that the cops were trying to corral off to one side. A television news van was parked off to the right and it's crew was working to get cameras and other equipment set up as the reporter stood primping with the help of a side mirror on a nearby fire truck.

Everyone in the crowd of bystanders was shouting 'What's going on - What's happening', at the same time, but no one seemed to have any definitive answers. Jennifer didn't bother trying to get any info out of them. She stood Molly at the far edge of the clamoring group, ordered her to 'Stay' and used the leather satchel she was carrying to help clear people out of her way so that she could get close enough to one of the uniformed police officers.

"I'm sorry ma'am. We have a police situation inside. The building's on complete lockdown until further notice," the unhelpful cop said as he callously blew Jennifer off and started to hurry off to somewhere else.

"My son is a patient here," Jennifer stayed, grabbing onto the mans shirtsleeve and refusing to let him go. "I want to know exactly what's going on and that he's alright."

"I don't know what to tell you, ma'am," the cop replied as he peeled her fingers away from the fabric of his uniform. "There's no information available to the general public yet. If you'll please wait over there with everyone else I'm sure someone will come make a statement as soon as the situation has been stabilized."

The cop didn't care a whit about how unhelpful his words were. As soon as he got Jennifer’s hand away from his shirt, he hustled away, not bothering to look back at the worried mother who was left standing outside the police tape boundary. Jennifer, on the other hand, was fuming mad at the cursory treatment she’d just received. However, there would be time to get angry about that later. Right now she just needed to ensure that Justin wasn’t in danger.

She quickly pulled out her cell phone, punching the speed-dial for her son’s partner and, when it went straight to voicemail, yelled her concern at the uncaring device.

“Brian, It’s Jennifer. Are you with Justin? I’m at the hospital but there’s all these cops and they won’t let anyone inside. Please call me.”

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Someone was yelling. His body was telling him it was still tired and that he should just go back to sleep. He ached pretty much everywhere, his head was throbbing again and he felt like he could sleep for at least another week. But, the insistent, angry complaining in the background was forcing him towards consciousness regardless of what his body wanted.

Once Justin had regained enough awareness to get a feeling for his surroundings, he quickly tried to piece together what was going on around him before he actually opened his eyes. This had become a sort of routine over the past few harrowing days - he was never sure where he was going to be when he woke up or what condition he was going to be in so he tried to work out what was going on before he let on to whoever was out there that he was awake. This time he was very glad he took the precaution because what he found he was waking up to was NOT what he wanted or expected.

The voice that was ranting and protesting was that of Chris Hobbs. Justin’s memory was hazy and not everything in the past few days seemed to be falling into a proper linear time frame, but he had thought that he was safe from Hobbs. He remembered waking up in the hospital and that Brian and his mother had been there. Did that really happen or had it been a dream? If he had been found and saved from Hobbs, then why was he still hearing the psycho’s voice? A familiar sense of panic was starting to rise up inside him, making it even more difficult to concentrate on what was going on around him. He couldn’t afford to panic, though. If he was still locked up in that cage and Hobbs was here again, he had to keep his wits about him if he wanted to ever get free and get back to Brian.

Trying desperately to control his breathing so as not to give himself away, Justin listened even harder to try to determine just what Hobbs was talking about. The conversation was unmistakably one-sided - he could only hear Hobbs speaking, there were no other voices - which might mean that Hobbs was on the phone. It could also mean that the psycho had now completely lost it and was just talking to people who weren’t there, but the ever-hopeful young artist wouldn’t let himself believe that yet.

So, he would assume that Hobbs was talking on a phone to someone. Could Justin figure out what the conversation was about? For the most part it sounded like just more of the same rambling that the unhinged man had been spouting the entire time he’d been holding Justin. Hobbs kept repeating that, ‘it wasn’t his fault’ and that, ‘this wasn’t what he wanted’. That information didn’t give him much to go on insofar as figuring out why Hobbs was yelling or what he could do about it. Justin pretty quickly determined that he was going to have to risk taking a look around if he ever wanted to figure out what was going on.

The wary patient let his eyelids drift open the tiniest fraction - just enough so that he could see a sliver of light through his eyelashes - without moving his head. The room he was in was brightly lit. He could see stark white walls and a ceiling covered with white acoustic tiles. Clearly he wasn’t still in the cage in that cement walled equipment shed where Hobbs had been keeping him.

Justin could also see that he was lying in a clean, neat bed with a fresh light-yellow blanket and starched white sheets draped over his lower body. The air had that slightly over-sanitized smell to it that he had always associated with hospitals and there were some faint machine-generated beeping noises coming from behind him somewhere that also brought to mind his past experiences with health care facilities. Without turning his head he couldn’t see much else, but every one of his senses were telling him that it hadn’t been a dream. He was in a hospital. But then, what the hell was Hobbs doing here?

Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed motion over to his left. Justin opened his eyes wider and was disappointed when he clearly made out the form of his long-time enemy, pacing back and forth beside the bed and still bellowing about how nothing was his fault. Fuck! Hobbs was indeed here at the hospital. He had thought he was safe - that he was finally free of the madman, but somehow the maniac had found him again.

Despite his internal mantra that he needed to stay calm and try to figure this out, Justin could feel his heart racing and hear his breathing speed up. He could tell he was shaking but couldn’t stop himself. What could he do? How was he going to get away from Hobbs? He knew Hobbs would try to hurt him again if he could, and Justin had no idea how to stop him this time.

The terrorized young man was just about to give in to his extreme fear when he suddenly heard a small reassuring noise off to his right. It was only a very faint cough, but Justin immediately recognized the sound. He turned his head eagerly in the direction the sound had come from and was overjoyed when he saw a familiar set of hazel eyes looking at him intently from only a few feet away.

Brian!

::::::::::::::

Brian had been sitting still on the chair where Hobbs had put him. He was trying to fade into the background while still watching every single movement the ranting lunatic was making, ready to jump up to his feet if Hobbs were to make any threatening move towards Justin’s bed. For the past twenty minutes or so, it seemed to have worked. Hobbs was focused on his long-winded conversation with Carl Horvath and was pacing around the room, talking and yelling into Brian’s cell phone, gesticulating wildly, but for the most part ignoring both Justin and Brian.

Brian had concentrated his attention on the vociferous ex-jock marching around the small room but every once in awhile he had let himself peek over at the unconscious body on the bed. Justin continued to sleep soundly for quite some time in spite of the commotion around him. Then, after a series of particularly vehement complaints from Hobbs, Brian had noticed that his blond’s lashes were beginning to flutter. Brian focused momentarily on Justin and easily discerned that the patient was starting to awaken.

When Brian observed that Justin was starting to breathe more heavily and his body started to tremble slightly, he knew that the other man was finally conscious again even though he continued to feign sleep. He also knew that Justin must be aware, to at least some extent, of what was happening and that Hobbs was back. He was tempted to run over to the bed and comfort his injured partner who he knew must be more than scared at hearing Hobbs’ voice. He didn’t want the armed psycho's attention to be diverted back to the defenseless injured man, though. While Hobbs was busy with Horvath and all his ‘demands’, he wouldn’t be tempted to hurt Justin any more than he already had. Brian knew he had to do something to help his terrified lover, but somehow do it without drawing Hobbs’ attention.

Brian took a chance that Hobbs was too engaged in his phone conversation to notice a small noise coming from the far side of the room. He cleared his throat very softly. Justin's head immediately turned his way and their eyes locked. Brian restrained himself from moving even though the pure terror coming across from his partner was pulling at him mercilessly. The cagey older man stayed in his seat, his shoulders hunched over, elbows braced against his thighs and his chin resting in his hands so that his face was partially hidden. He tried not to change his stance even a tiny bit for fear of alerting their captor. But, he did let himself smile slightly from behind his clasped hands and he gave Justin a saucy little wink of reassurance.

When Justin started to open his mouth to voice his surprise, Brian’s smile instantly turned into a frown and he shook his head in an attempt to warn the young blond to stay silent. Thankfully, Justin caught on right away. His lips snapped back together and he held back whatever exclamation he’d been about to voice. Brian watched as Justin took several deep breaths, obviously trying to calm himself with the breathing exercises they had used many times over the years to quell the boy’s ongoing anxiety attacks. Brian could see that Justin was struggling, but he staunchly refused to give in to the panic. Brian kept those bright blue eyes locked with his own and silently willed his own strength to reach out, bolstering his partner’s fragile control. Their unspoken connection was as powerful as ever, though, and Brian watched with relief as Justin slowly reined in his teetering emotions.

::::::::::::::::::

As soon as the hospital security chief had confirmed that the building was secured, Carl Horvath had stationed two armed men at Justin’s hospital room doorway and then moved the rest of his throng down the hallway to an empty room where they could establish a ‘command post’. The department’s hostage negotiator had turned up about ten minutes later and had taken over the conversation with Chris Hobbs, leaving Horvath to coordinate the police response. From the sounds of the continuing conversation, the negotiator was doing a superb job at keeping the perpetrator busy talking.

The police already had a sniper with a telescope set up on the rooftop of the parking garage across the street from the main hospital building. They had a good view through the hospital window of a large part of the room and they knew that both Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor were still apparently unharmed. Unfortunately, Hobbs kept moving around erratically and had unwittingly managed to spend most of his time in the one corner of the room where the sniper didn’t have a clear shot.

Which meant that, for the moment, there was absolutely nothing Carl could do. This was grating on his nerves. He had long ago resigned himself to being patient when he had no other choice, but it still wasn’t easy.

After listening to the drivel that this Hobbs guy had been spewing for the short time he’d been on the phone with him, Carl was concerned that a standoff like this could go on all day and into the night. The kid was seriously - very, very seriously - screwed up. The hospital had provided some quack to help out the negotiator and the guy was bandying about words like ‘major depression’, ‘psychosis’ and possibly even ‘schizophrenia’. No shit? A guy takes a former classmate who he previously bashed in the head with a baseball bat hostage, holds him captive in a cage for several days and then, after the victim is rescued, takes him hostage in his own hospital room, and there’s even any doubt that the kid is bat shit crazy? It that didn’t qualify as crazy, Horvath didn’t know what did.

Unfortunately, Carl didn’t want to wait till his crazy ran out and somebody managed to talk him down. Not only was Taylor medically unstable and in need of ongoing care, but Horvath had serious doubts that Kinney would hold out much longer without pulling some foolhardy, brave but idiotic stunt. No way was this standoff going to last a significant time period without all hell breaking loose. Actually, he was amazed that Kinney had lasted this long without doing something moronic.

While Carl was standing there contemplating how to resolve this unresolvable situation, Winston brought him over a sticky note that the negotiator had scribbled on.

The note read, ‘Is he on a cell? I hear beeping. Battery time?’  
Shit! Horvath quickly jotted a response, ‘Yes, he’s on a cell. I don’t know about battery’. Officer Winston obediently trotted the response back over the corner where the negotiator was sitting.

The return sticky asked, ‘Is there a phone in the room?’

After consulting with the hospital security guy for thirty seconds, Horvath responded, succinctly, ‘No room phone set up yet.’

‘We’re going to lose him in about five min,’ was written on the next sticky note.

All Carl could think of was to find a way to end this now.

‘Find a way to get him to move to the window!’ Carl wrote back.

“Roberts,” Carl said quietly into the radio that had been set up to link him to the sniper. “As soon as you have a clear line of sight, you have authorization to take the shot.”

:::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you will all HATE me after this update. I really did plan on getting through the big climax in this chapter but it was sooooo long that I just had to cut it off somewhere. . . . Okay. Maybe that's not completely true. Maybe I LIKE being the Queen of the Evil Cliffhangers. So, what are you going to do about it? Leave me more angry Reviews? I dare you! TAG


	18. The Shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As one of my readers commented, leaving all of you on that last tiny little cliff was rather dangerous - it was starting to crumble away - so I've rushed to get you the next chapter as soon as possible. I don't want you all eroding the landscape so egregiously or falling down the cliff without warning to those below who might be injured in the process. Please come down off the cliff now. Hope you like the big CLIMAX here! Enjoy! TAG

Chapter 18 - The shot.

“I hear you saying that you didn’t want any of this to happen, Chris,” he heard Carol, the woman he’d been talking to on the phone, repeat. “If that’s really the truth, you can stop all of this right now. You know that, Chris. Right? You have the power to make everything stop right now. You can control this situation, get the help you’ve been telling me you want, and end all this drama. All you have to do is put down that gun and walk out the door.”

“Yeah, like I believe that,” Chris retorted. “I’m not stupid you know. I don’t want to go to jail.”

“I can’t promise that you won’t go to jail, Chris,” the soft, calming and yet serious voice said. “You know you screwed up. You knew that there would be consequences, right? But, I can promise you that your life’s going to get a lot worse if you don’t give yourself up. If you push this with the police - someone gets hurt - then you’re going to be in an even worse position that you are now. There are people here who want to help you, Chris.”

“I don’t want to talk to any quack doctors!” Hobbs insisted.

“Fine, if you don’t want to talk to a doctor there are other people that can help you instead. There are counsellors and support groups,” Carol quickly backpedalled. “And, what about your family and friends, Chris, I’m sure that once they know what you’ve been going through they will want to help you, too.”

“I don’t have a family anymore,” the ranting, pacing man yelled angrily into the phone. “I’m too big of a screw up. My father told me that he didn’t want anything more to do with me until I get my act together. And all my friends know about me by now - all they would do is make fun of me, or worse, pity me. . . . .”

The makeshift therapy session went on and on. Chris was relieved, in a way, to finally talk to someone about what he’d been thinking. All these ideas had been bottled up in his head for so long and it felt so good to speak them so he could be free of them. Carol, the woman he’d been speaking with had a very nice voice, too. She sounded a lot like his mother. She didn’t seem to be blaming him. Carol had said that she only really wanted to help him. She said she understood that he’d never wanted things to get this bad. Maybe she could help him. Fuck, he really wanted someone to help him. He didn’t want to be like this anymore. Maybe there was still a way to get rid of all these feelings he didn’t know how to control anymore. Maybe there was some way for him to become normal again.

Of course, he’d have to tell Carol about the feelings. What would she say if she knew about him? Would she still want to help him? Or would she just turn out like all the others - laughing at him and teasing him, whispering about him behind his back. God, it was just too much. Was it even worth it to try to get better? He wished he could just crawl back home to the Pit and hide from everyone forever. He didn’t want to do this - any of this. He didn’t want to talk to anyone and tell them about his shame. He was already screwed anyway. . . . .

Hobbs looked up from the linoleum floor tiles he’d been contemplating while he paced and talked to Carol. He glanced around the small hospital room and made sure that the Boyfriend was still sitting quietly in the chair on the far side of the room. Kinney was so quiet, Hobbs had almost forgotten the guy was still in here with him. Taylor was apparently still sleeping, which meant he wasn’t going to cause any problems. But, he knew he was going to have to take care of Kinney eventually. Kinney wasn’t going to just sit there like a statue forever. Shit! What the hell was he going to do?

*Beep, beep, beep*

The chiming of the phone interrupted Hobbs’ train of thought and he was again aware of Carol’s reassuring voice coming out of the cell phone he was still holding.

“Chris? Chris are you still there? Talk to me, Chris.” Carol’s voice was getting louder and sounded worried when he didn’t respond right away. “Chris, please just talk to me.”

“I want. . . I want help,” Chris finally whispered into the phone. “I want to be normal again. I don’t want them to all laugh at me anymore. . . “

“I won’t laugh at you, Chris. I promise,” Carol’s voice crooned at him, soothing many of his fears. “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

“I want to be . . . I don’t want to have these feelings,” Hobbs sobbed quietly into the phone, for the first time ready to admit aloud what he’d been hiding for so long.

“What feelings, Chris?” Carol asked, her calm voice encouraging Hobbs to finally open up.

*Beep, beep, beep*

“Sometimes, I feel . . . “ Chris didn’t know if he could actually say it. He took a shuddering breath and tried to start again. “Taylor. . . Taylor made me feel . . . See, there was the one time when Taylor was helping me to clear out the athletic equipment room and . . . well . . . shit happened. . . . I didn’t ask for it or anything. He started it, you know, but I didn’t really try to stop him, because. . . I kinda. . .I . . . .I liked it. . . .”

*Beep, beep, beep*

*Click*

“C-C-Carol? Carol, are you still there?” Hobbs stammered into the now dead phone.

He looked down as the phone in his hand, pushed a button or two to confirm that it was completely dead and then howled furiously as he threw the useless piece of plastic crap as hard as he could against the wall.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Horvath! The phone just died on me,” Sergeant Carol Murphy, the departmental Hostage Negotiator, shouted across the room to the detective in charge of this case. “I’ve lost him.”

“Shit,” Carl Horvath mumbled as he grabbed for the radio again. “Roberts, we’ve lost phone contact with the gunman. Do you have visual? What’s going on in that room?”

“I can see the patient’s bed - no change there - and the big dark-haired guy is still sitting over in the corner,” came the prompt reply over the static-filled radio. “I still can’t see Hobbs real well, though. He’s still walking around over in the south corner of the room where I don’t have a direct line of sight.”

“Okay, people,” Horvath announced loudly, turning to the group of emergency personnel in the ersatz command post. “We’ve lost phone contact with the perp. I’m fresh out of ideas about what to do. Anybody else got anything?”

“Hold on, Carl,” the radio crackled back to life. “I can see Hobbs. He still has the gun and he’s moved back to the center of the room. It doesn’t look good, Carl. It looks like he’s arguing with the other guy.”

“Do you have a shot, Roberts?” Horvath demanded tersely.

“Maybe. . . If he’d just hold still. . . .”

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Brian hadn’t been paying much attention to Hobbs’ phone conversation. All he’d got out of it was that it was a huge load of self-indulgent, ape shit crazy. However, when the blustering and emphatic declarations started to fade into quiet, sobbing admissions, Brian had started to take notice.

‘Shit,’ Brian thought. ‘Just like I thought. He’s just another repressed, closeted faggot. Of course, he’s a homicidally insane closet case, but, yeah, still just another fag.’

As Hobbs started to choke out more of his confession, Brian even caught himself feeling a tinge of sympathy for the guy. Then he saw the gun, which was still loosely held by the fingers protruding from the bright yellow cast on Hobbs’ left arm. That sight pretty much wiped out any potential sympathy Hobbs might have got. And, when Brian glanced over at the bruised and terrified patient still looking up from the hospital bed next to him, the familiar hatred and loathing he’d always felt for this monster came back in full force.

That’s when all hell broke loose in the tiny little room.

Both Brian and Justin almost jumped out of their skins when Hobbs started roaring like a wild beast caught in its den. Justin gave up playing possum and sat straight up in his bed. Brian jumped to his feet like a flash and sprinted around the foot of the bed, trying to get between Hobbs’ and Justin. As he rounded the far corner of the over-sized bed, he had to duck as a small black object came sailing through the air towards his head. When Brian briefly halted to look over at the tiny missile that just missed him and crashed into the wall, he noted in passing that he was going to have to get a new phone. Brian didn’t waste a lot of time though and was soon perched on the edge of Justin’s bed, using his own body to shield his partner from the maniac Hobbs.

“They’re all fucking liars! Everyone!” Hobbs screamed at Brian, using the Boyfriend as his verbal sounding post for all his current frustrations. “She wouldn’t have helped me anyway. I’m NOT going to fucking jail. I’d rather die first!”

Now that he wasn’t trying to juggle a phone with his good hand, Hobbs was waiving the stolen police gun around with his right hand in a much more effective and purposeful manner than he had been before. At the moment, it was pointed directly at Brian’s chest. The man was now also completely irate and, if possible, even more irrational.

“All of this is YOUR fault, Taylor. You did this to me. You caused this. Now everybody knows - Trey, Will, Paul fucking Murchison, the football chick . . . even the the fucking police now. My whole life is fucked because of YOU! Why couldn’t you have just left me alone. I was FINE before you came along. Now I’m shit. I’m a fucking loser. I have no friends, no family, no fucking future and its ALL. YOUR. FAULT.”

“Nice fucking cop out, Hobbs,” Brian bravely refuted the armed man’s claims. “It’s not anybody’s fault. You’re a FAG! Don’t you get it? You like cock. So what? We all do. That’s no reason to fucking try to kill people.”

“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!” Hobbs shrieked and shoved the gun he was holding right up into Brian’s face. “You don’t know shit. I’m not a fag. I never had these feelings until Taylor fucking infected me. It’s all his fault. He fucking ruined my entire LIFE!”

“Bullshit!” Brian yelled back, not really sure why he was arguing with a man who had a gun pointed at his forehead, but unable to restrain himself any longer. “You ruined your own life. You’re the one who decided that taking a bat to Justin’s head was going to solve all your problems. You’re the one who thought bombing my club would cure you of being a fag! If you’re a loser and a failure then you have nobody to blame but yourself!”

“Fuck you, Kinney! Fuck you!” the incensed, red-faced gunman shrilled, waving the revolver perilously in the older man’s face. “You infected Taylor and he infected ME. As far as I’m concerned, that means It’s ALL. YOUR. FAULT!”

Hobbs punctuated each word with a jab of the pistol into Brian’s chest. Brian wasn’t about to back down, though. They both stood there, nose to nose, Brian armed with nothing more than his sheer bravado while standing up to a raving madman with a gun. He wouldn’t back down, though. Not when he knew that he was the only thing standing between this nutcase and Justin. Hobbs had been trying to kill Justin for almost five years now. Brian hadn’t been able to protect him after the Prom. He hadn’t been able to keep Justin out of the Pink Posse. He hadn’t been able to shield him from the bombing at Babylon. But, he was here now and he could stop this maniac from hurting the man he loved this time.

He didn’t care what it would cost him.

::::::::::::::::::::

The radio in the command post crackled again.

Roberts’ voice echoed throughout the room. “I’ve got a clear shot. Requesting final authorization.”

“Take him out!” Carl decreed without a second’s hesitation.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Bullshit!” Justin gasped as he heard his lover arguing with Hobbs.

‘Shut up, shut up, shutup, shutup, shutupshutupshutup,’ Justin thought frantically, trying to telepathically transmit his warning to the irrepressible man standing between him and a crazy gunman.

He still felt so weak and so tired. It was a struggle for him to just stay focused on what was going on around him. But, in spite of the pain and exhaustion, in spite of the continued weakness in his right side, Justin knew he had to try to diffuse this situation. Brian could be ‘out and proud’ later! Right now, in Hobbs’ face, was not really the place. If he didn’t do something he knew this would end very badly.

Justin moved as fast as he could, considering how beat up he felt. He managed to sit up in the bed straighter and wrapped his good left arm around Brian’s waist. He had to get Brian’s attention - get him to focus on something other than baiting Hobbs.

“. . . .that means It’s ALL. YOUR. FAULT!” Hobbs spit his words at Brian and Justin could see from where he was peeking around the tall brunet’s side the pure, insane fury that was burning out of his former classmate’s cold steel-grey eyes.

Justin knew that this was it. This was the moment that something irreversible was going to happen. A distant and almost lost memory flitted into his consciousness - another time he’d seen that same zealous, misdirected passion, only that time it had ended when Hobbs had swung the baseball bat at him in that cold grey parking garage.

Justin almost laughed at the transient thought that instead of his whole life flashing before his eyes in a moment of crisis, all he had seen was the one memory that he’d almost lost completely. If he were about to die, weren’t there other, better, memories that he could have been reliving right now? Couldn’t his lousy subconscious pick a happier memory? The silver and grey and sparkly images out of his dream from earlier this morning flashed through his mind briefly but Justin didn’t have the leisure to examine those thoughts more carefully just then.

Just at that moment, the intense grey eyes Justin had been watching blinked closed. He watched as Hobbs took a deep breath then, gritting his teeth and with his hand shaking slightly, the distraught man raised the gun marginally and started to pull the trigger.

Justin somehow found the strength he needed to pull Brian’s body backwards, down to the bed with him, just as he heard the deafening retort of the gun. At the same instant, Brian’s hands had come up to grab onto Hobbs’ wrist in an attempt to wrestle the gun away. As Justin pulled Brian towards him, Brian also towed Hobbs down, the three of them moving together almost gracefully as a seemingly-choreographed whole.

Less than a heartbeat later, the huge pane of glass in the window behind Justin’s bed shattered, little shards of glass exploding everywhere, covering the bed and pelting into the three falling men.

When the whole moil of them landed atop the pillows, there was perfect silence and stillness for an immeasurable moment of time. Justin’s heart was pounding. He could hear his own loud panting in cadence with another’s equally rapid breathing and a third, rasping and wheezing almost-breathing. There was a lot of shouting going on in the hallway outside the room, but inside everything seemed almost peaceful.

Then the peace was irredeemably lost as the hospital room door was thrown open and a whole herd of loudly yelling people erupted into the small restrictive space.

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Brian blinked his eyes, trying to focus and orient himself. He had no idea where he was or why he had such a pounding headache. His mouth was dry as cotton and he felt a bit nauseous and based on the half-muted laughter coming from over on his right, he thought maybe he had passed out at a party and was just really hungover right now. But, that didn’t make much sense - he didn’t remember going to any party last night and, if he had, how had the party ended up in a hospital room?

Yes, he was most definitely in some kind of medical facility - the walls were white, the floor was white, the ceiling was a dingy white and the scratchy, poor-quality linens on the bed where he was lying were white, too. There was altogether too much white and it wasn’t a fun kind of white either - like at the White Party - but a boring, overly-sterile kind of white. That much dull white sort of screamed ‘Hospital’.

A few more blinks later and Brian had managed to look around him a bit more. He was definitely in one of those big adjustable beds with metal guardrails that they used in hospitals. He couldn’t see much beyond his bed though because there was a heavy blue curtain attached to a track in the ceiling with large metal hoops that had been pulled all the way around his part of the room. The voices and laughter he’d notice before were coming from the other side of the curtain. It all added up to convince him that this was NOT just another hangover.

Man of action that he was, Brian wasn’t about to just lie here and wait until someone came and told him what was going on. He merely told his head to stop throbbing, pushed down the incipient nausea and threw off the blankets and sheets that had been draped over him. Then, swinging his legs to the side, he sat up and scooted over until his feet were in contact with the floor. He shook off a momentary bout of dizziness and then pulled his body upright, taking the two steps over to the curtain and shoving it unceremoniously aside.

The rest of the room was brightly lit and it took him several seconds before he could adjust enough to figure out what was out there. Before he even took in the whole scene, though, he heard several surprised voices saying his name and noted a blurry shadow moving towards him.

“Brian! What are you doing out of bed? You shouldn’t be up. You’re going to topple over and knock yourself out again, you little asshole. Come on, get back in that bed, now!” a familiar, boisterous voice admonished him.

“What the fuck’s going on, Deb?” he managed to ask as he shook off the motherly attentions of his favorite pseudo-redhead, ignoring her advice and stepping forward into the room further rather than letting himself be led back to the bed.

“What’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on, Brian” Debbie followed him closely, one hand on his arm to steady the tall brunet, all the time keeping up her harangue. “YOU were trying to play hero and almost got yourself shot, scaring the shit out of poor Sunshine here in the process. Not to mention how much you freaked out all the rest of us.

“Shit! Hobbs!” Brian exclaimed as it all finally came back to him.

“It’s okay, Brian. He’s gone,” Brian felt overwhelmingly relieved to hear Justin’s voice and, a moment later, to finally locate his blond sitting on a second hospital bed surrounded by many of their friends and family.

Brian stumbled directly over to Justin’s bed and plonked himself down on the edge, not caring in the least that he knocked at least two other people over in his dash to get to the man he had been so worried about.

“Justin,” he breathed out the name as he reached his left hand up to touch the soft cheek of the man and confirm that he was truly there.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did I do with the big action scene? This was the first time I tried to write anything like that before so I'm eager to get your feedback. Keep in mind I'm not a police officer, sniper or even a gun owner, so I might have got all the technical details wrong. But, I did watch the Mythbusters episode that proved there was no way a person could move out of the way fast enough to avoid a sniper's bullet. And, thankfully, Hobbs closed his eyes when he took the shot at Brian, so he wasn't aiming too carefully. Don't worry, though, I plan to explain it all in my big wrap up. Hope you enjoyed Hobbs' gory ending! Thanks for reading. TAG


	19. The Morgue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Time for the happy ending! Hip, hip, Horrah! Enjoy! TAG

Chapter 19 - The Morgue.

In spite of the fact that there were two beds in the room, and even after a severe and lengthy lecture from a crotchety older nurse, Brian refused to go back to his own bed. As soon as he’d made it to the side of Justin’s bed that afternoon, he’d scooted the blond over, installed himself under the covers and simply refused to move. Their friends and family, who had of course all stuffed themselves into the patients’ room as soon as they heard what had happened, weren’t surprised in the least by Brian’s actions. The nursing staff was a little annoyed because it made monitoring the two injured men’s separate conditions difficult and, well, it wasn’t proper hospital protocol after all. Except for Nurse Cratchet, though, who was completely unsuccessful in getting Brian to move anyway, no one was willing to take on an adamant Brian Kinney. So, if the nurses or doctors were a little put off by the sight of the two men cuddling together in one bed, they wisely didn’t comment on it.

Of course, Brian wasn’t the easiest of patients under the best of circumstances, and these were not the best of circumstances. On top of the injured wrist and the painfully scratched cornea he had already received from his first confrontation with Hobbs, he now was sporting a bandaged left shoulder, where the bullet which had discharged from the gun Hobbs stole had grazed him, and a slight concussion from where he’d hit his head on the edge of the tray table when Justin had pulled him away from the shooter. Even with all the painkillers he’d been given, Brian was still hurting and was more uncooperative than usual.

It could have been a lot worse though. If Justin hadn’t pulled Brian’s body down onto the bed at that exact second, Hobbs’ bullet might have hit him directly in the chest. According to Horvath, it was a good thing that Hobbs had closed his eyes right before pulling the trigger, throwing his aim off enough so that, along with Justin’s interference, Brian had survived the disastrous idea of baiting his armed captor and then wrestling him for the loaded gun.

However, it wasn’t yet clear if Brian would survive the severe tongue lashing he was still getting from a combined Debbie Novotny and Carl Horvath. The detective had started off the lecture on how Brian had been a fool to act like a goddamned hero and how his meddling could have not only got him killed but messed up the shot the sniper had lined up to take out the gunman. Debbie had taken over the scolding after that, propounding at length about how stupid Brian had been, how he could have gotten both himself and her Sunshine killed and how she would never have forgiven him if he’d done so. The rest of the peanut gallery present - Ted, Jennifer and Daphne - regularly chimed in their agreement with the two main speakers and added their disapprobation to the heap being thrown Brian’s way. Needless to say, the ongoing reprimands weren’t making Brian’s mood any cheerier.

The only thing keeping Brian from a full scale retaliatory Queen Out of his own was the warm, comforting, safe body of his lover carefully nestled in the crook of his arm. Justin hadn’t said much yet, but he had let a few little snorts of laughter escape as he snuggled in next to Brian and listened to the ongoing dressing-down his partner was getting from all sides. Brian kept peeking down at his bedmate to reassure himself that Justin was truly here and safe - the amused little half-smile on the beautiful pale face helped him restrain himself from yelling back at Debbie and Carl.

But even Justin’s pacifying powers eventually weren’t enough. By the time Debbie was well into her third cycle of recriminations, Brian had had more than enough. He figured the most expeditious way to get rid of the gang, though, wasn’t to start arguing with them. Debbie was just itching for a fight - he could tell. Brian was wise enough not to give it to her. Instead, he opted for a much more pleasant way to rid them of the pesky group of visitors.

Ignoring Debbie, Carl and everyone else completely, Brian turned his body towards his fellow invalid and started kissing the beautiful, soft, cotton-candy pink lips of his partner. Justin moaned into the kiss and opened up so he could taste Brian back. All the fear and longing that each had been feeling for the past few days was transmitted and transformed into pure desire. They kissed as if there was a risk the world would end any minute. Their lips pressed hard against each other, their tongues tangling together, breathing in each other’s essences as they both surrendered to their need.

After enduring the extremely overt display of affection for several minutes, Debbie and Jennifer’s looks of doting affection started to fade. Jennifer tried politely clearing her throat a few times but wasn’t very effective. Debbie realized early on that she was being intentionally ignored and that, unless they wanted to stay for the show, it was time for the visitors to leave. She rounded them all up and shooed them out of the room, leaving with a loud “Hey, Asshole - get some rest and try not to get into any more trouble for at least the next twelve hours, okay!” she followed the others out.

“Alone at last,” Brian whispered as soon as he heard the door click closed. “I thought for a moment that I was going to have to pull the covers down, tear off this annoying little gown and start giving you a handjob before they’d get the hint to leave.”

“I don’t know, Brian. Except for my Mom and maybe Carl, they’d probably all enjoy that too much to leave,” Justin laughed quietly in response.

Brian kissed his favorite set of lips once more tenderly and then sighed heavily. Lying back on the pillows, he settled himself more comfortably on the bed and then pulled Justin down so that the blond head was nestled where it belonged on his chest. Brian’s arms curled around the smaller frame and he finally let himself relax for the first time in weeks.

“Deb wasn’t wrong about getting some rest, though, Sunshine,” Brian admitted. “And now that I have you back next to me where you belong, I think I could sleep for a month.”

Justin didn’t say anything back - the soft snore that resonated against Brian’s chest told him that his boy was thinking the exact same thing.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neither of the injured men really got all that much sleep, though. The nurses kept coming into the room to poke and prod one or the other of them all through the night. Finally, around four am, Brian lost his temper completely, leaping out of the bed when another attendant came around to take Justin’s vitals, yelling some very creative curses at the unsuspecting MedTech, and then physically removing the man from the room, leaving him in a heap on the hallway tiles with a warning that if anyone else came in their room before morning, he would have his lawyers file suit against the doctor, nurse or whatever before the sun set the next day. That threat got them about three hours of uninterrupted peace - before the next shift came on and unknowingly started their own rounds of poking and prodding.

By that point, though, the two tired men had to admit that trying to get more sleep was futile, at least for the near future. As soon as visiting hours started, Debbie was back with a bag of clothes for them to change into and a hamper full of food that they were required to eat as much of as they could while Debbie watched them like a vulture, snapping at them when either would stop eating for even a moment. Brian was happy to see that Justin’s appetite was almost as hearty as normal, which meant his boy couldn’t be feeling too badly.

They were only saved from being forced to eat a third serving of scrambled eggs and ham when Carl showed up along with another detective to get their official statements. Carl gently drove Debbie out of the room, softening his actions with a tender kiss that did more to propel the motherly figure out the door than all Brian’s prior complaints all morning had accomplished. Brian was so grateful to Carl that he didn’t even complain about having to watch a hetero kiss in his own hospital room.

It took the police almost two hours to get a full statement from both Justin and Brian. Brian didn’t help matters any by constantly exclaiming and cursing Hobbs every time Justin revealed another horrendous part of his story. As Justin’s narrative went on and on, though, Brian gradually fell silent. He was shocked and appalled at everything his lover had had to endure at the hands of that maniac Hobbs. And Brian felt more and more guilty about how long it had taken him to find and rescue Justin. If only he’d thought about using the lost phone app earlier, they might have caught Hobbs earlier. If he hadn’t been so focused on all the stupid issues about the damage to the club - like any of that would matter at all if Justin hadn’t been found - he might have started looking for Justin earlier. If he just hadn’t let Justin leave the club without him that night, none of this would have happened.

The longer Justin talked, the tighter Brian’s grip around his shoulders got and the quieter the brunet became. The blond knew exactly what was going through Brian’s head when he saw the man set his lips in what seemed to be a permanent frown. Brian always tried to take responsibility for everything bad that happened to those around him - it was just like the Prom all over again. But, Justin had had years more experience since then at dealing with the Kinney guilt complex. As soon as he could he finished up his story for the police and then encouraged them to leave citing his need to rest.

“Brian, stop it,” Justin whispered into the older man’s ear as soon as Horvath and the other cop left.

“Stop what, Sunshine?” Brian said as he started kissing the long tender neck of his favorite blond in a futile attempt to distract him from the inevitable conversation.

“Stop blaming yourself, Brian,” the undeterred blond responded through the flurry of kisses. “I know you. I know that look, you’re busy blaming yourself for everything that happened to me and to Emmett and Michael because of Hobbs. And you know that’s bullshit. Nobody could have guessed that he was that insane. You had no way of knowing that he was crazy enough to try to bomb the club or to take me prisoner. If anything, I’m the reason he got so bad. . . .”

“Justin, it’s not your fault, either,” Brian immediately replied, but he was hushed by Justin’s fingers being lightly laid across his lips.

“Listen to me, Brian. Are you listening?” Justin demanded his partner’s attention. “It is partly my fault, I think. I never told you about the night I quit the Pink Posse. From some of the stuff Hobbs was babbling about, I think that what I did that night might have pushed him over the edge. . . .”

It took Justin another twenty minutes to tell Brian the story of his penultimate confrontation with Hobbs the night he’d held a gun to the man’s head and demanded an apology for the Prom-night bashing. Brian was literally speechless after hearing the full account of what had gone down. He’d always known that something bad had happened that night, but he’d been too relieved to have Justin back and hear that his boy wasn’t going out looking for more trouble, to ask too many questions. Now, he was just so angry at the danger Justin had put himself in that he didn’t know what to do or say. So, as Justin’s story petered out to an end, the two men just laid there together not saying anything much.

::::::::::::::::::::

Carl stood outside the hospital morgue waiting for the coroner. All he needed to wrap up this sorry case was the coroner’s final report and a positive ID of the body. Finally, a buzzer sounded and the electronically locked door to the morgue clicked, allowing the detective to enter the security area. He pulled open the door and headed down the hallway, only to be met halfway by a short young man with bright red hair wearing a long white lab coat, his arms full of about a dozen different manila files.

The coroner’s assistant led the detective back to the room where the bodies were kept, each in its own individual refrigerated compartment. The Allegheny County Coroner, a sixty-something man with steel gray hair and a large girth, met him with a printed report already in hand. Horvath scanned the report and noted that everything seemed cut and dried.

“I guess all that’s left is to ID the body,” Horvath offered, following as the Coroner moved towards the wall of small stainless steel doors, unlatching one on the top row and pulling out the tray inside on which a body draped in a white sheet was waiting.

“The kid’s mother was already down here earlier today,” the Coroner advised. “She positively ID’d the body - she was a fucking mess, I’ll tell you - but just in case you want to make sure. . .”

Horvath gazed down at the pasty grey countenance of the man who’d been the subject of the intense manhunt they’d all been focused on for the past week and nodded. It was definitely Hobbs. Looking at the peaceful inanimate figure, Horath found it hard to see the monster in the still, small heap of flesh. It always struck him that way, though. Even after all these years on the force, it still seemed incredible to him that so much anger and hatred and destruction could be generated from such a seemingly insignificant sad single individual.

Oh well, that’s why he was a cop not a philosopher.

“Yep. That’s our guy. Go ahead and wrap him up and send him to his family,” Carl told the Coroner as he sedately turned and left the morgue, heading back to the station to get started on typing up his report.

::::::::::::::::::::

Brian was officially discharged later that morning. All that meant though was that, instead of lying in bed with Justin dressed in a similar, flimsy, open-backed hospital gown, Brian was now dressed in his own jeans and t-shirt as he lounged on the bed next to his partner. No way was Brian going anywhere without Justin ever again. Justin was secretly wondering if Brian would let him out of his sight even after they left the hospital.

The only time the older man had left the room at all that day was when he took a short trip to visit Michael and then Emmett - making sure that Jennifer was baby-sitting Justin the whole time he was gone. It looked like both Michael and Emmett were well on the road to healing themselves. Emmett was due to be discharged himself later that day. Michael still had a few days to go before the doctors would let him go home. But, altogether, it looked like everyone would be alright in the long run.

Justin was sleeping again by the time Brian made it back to the room to take over from Jennifer. Brian was tired as well and decided immediately to curl up next to his favorite bed mate and take a short nap himself. Considering how little sleep they’d been allowed the night before, he was amazed he’d lasted this long without passing out. And, as soon as his head was nestled on the pillow next to the blond, he was out like a light.

Sadly, Brian still wasn’t destined to rest peacefully.

:::::::::::::::::::::

'Oh baby, save the last dance for me . . . '

Brian spun Justin around one last time. Then, as the music started to fade, the guiding right arm circled even more tightly around the younger man's waist and Justin felt his upper body being dropped backwards in a deep and elegant dip. He laughed in sheer amusement at the playful move, crooking his right leg up around Brian’s and letting his head fall back almost to the floor below. Then Brian’s strong arms pulled him back all the way upright and into a passionate embrace, the length of their bodies pressed firmly together.

For one frozen moment, the blue eyes locked with the hazel, and everything was perfect. Justin could never again doubt Brian's love from that moment on. His green and gold eyes revealed everything he'd been trying to hide in his heart for so long. Then, as if to seal their joy, Brian bent to capture his lover's full coral pink lips in a heart-stopping kiss.

*Giggle* Brian was awakened by Justin’s sweet happy laughter. He was smiling in his sleep and actually giggling. Brian was used to being roused by Justin’s dreams at odd times, but usually the dreams that woke him were much less happy. In fact they were more likely to be nightmares that would leave the boy trembling than dreams that would leave the young man smiling. Considering how jubilant Justin seemed now, Brian wasn’t even sure he wanted to wake him.

The decision was taken out of his hands though when Justin rolled towards him, sliding an arm across the strong chest and his right leg over Brian’s, and ground his hard cock into the still drowsy man’s thigh. That woke Brian right up. Justin’s next giggle came out ending in a moan of pleasure and his eyelids started to flutter open. The first thing he saw when his eyes opened was the sparkling gold and green flecks in his partner’s eyes and he smiled his most radiant smile up into the beaming gaze.

“ . . . Save the last dance for me. . . “ Justin quietly murmured along with the music that was fading with his dream and squeezed Brian tightly in his arms, trying to communicate his utter joy through his touch.

“Justin?” Brian hesitantly started to question the dazzlingly happy man lying next to him.

“I remember, Brian!” Justin enthusiastically shouted as he bolted upright. “I remember everything. Prom. The dance. You spun me around and then kissed me as I came back down and landed on my feet. Everyone was watching. They even cheered - well at least some of them. It was the best night of my life, Brian. Thank you! Thank you!”

The last of this statement was somewhat mumbled as Justin was already busy planting a multitude of passionate kisses all over a surprised Brian’s face before he could finish speaking. Brian tried to capture the fervent young man but Justin was simply too excited to allow himself to be slowed down. He grappled for Brian’s wrists and once he had the restraining hands out of the way he went on kissing Brian everywhere his lips could touch him.

It was as if none of the intervening years between that glorious, romantic night and this moment had intervened. Justin was so caught up in the emotions of his dream that he was bent on reliving them immediately. Brian had told him that night, with his gestures and his eyes, exactly how much he loved him. Justin remembered the ecstasy of those revelations and exactly how it felt to his eighteen year old self. He knew now that he never really had to wait all these years to hear the words, because Brian had already proved his love that distant night. And now, Justin wanted to return to him all the love and triumph that Brian’s long ago declaration had brought him.

“I love you, Brian. I love you! I’m sorry that I forgot that night. If I hadn’t, I never would have ever doubted you. I love you so much. . .” Justin trilled delightedly, interspersing his emphatic statements with caresses, kisses and love bites, barely letting Brian catch his breath, let alone get in a word edgewise.

Brian did the only thing he could think of to hush his overeager lover - he rolled his body over the slighter smaller one, pinning Justin to the bed, and stuck his tongue as far down the other man’s throat as he could. The avid declarations of love morphed into moans of passion pretty fast. Brian had managed to free his hands, letting him twine his fingers through the shining golden tresses and allowing him to keep Justin’s greedy lips planted just where his kisses could be best savored. Justin’s hands were already around his waist, pushing up his shirt so that he could stroke the supple strong muscles of Brian’s back, desperate to touch his lover, to feel the electric connection that always accompanied any contact with the other’s bare skin.

It had been too long for both of them. They’d been through so much - the fight, Justin moving out, the bombing and then Hobbs - it felt more like years since they’d touched than mere days. They were both as hard as rock, their erections rubbing together with only the thin fabric of denim and cotton between them.

“I - I - I need you, Brian,” Justin managed to stutter, snaking his right hand down between their bodies, trying urgently to unbutton Brian’s jeans while Brian rucked up the useless hospital gown that the younger man was still sporting.

That’s the moment that the anomaly stuck Brian and he gasped, pulling away from Justin with a euphoric smile on his already handsome face.

“Justin! Your hand! You’re using your right hand!” Brian shouted gleefully as he sat up, straddling the smaller man’s thighs and looking pointedly down at Justin’s still struggling right hand which was halfway through getting the button on Brian’s jeans undone.

They both stared while Justin adroitly slipped the button through the buttonhole and then pulled at the zipper with his right hand alone.

“It isn’t numb anymore. Ever since the bashing it’s always felt a little numb - like my fingertips were falling asleep sorta. But. . . I can feel them now. . .” Justin said in a hushed but happy voice as he quickly did one of his regular exercises that had caused endless frustration over the years - touching each finger quickly to his thumb repeatedly and so deftly that both men were amazed.

Brian laughed aloud and immediately launched himself off the bed and pounded on the call button to summon a nurse. He wanted to make sure this miracle wasn’t just wishful thinking on his part. If nothing else, he wanted the doctor to pinch him so that he knew he wasn’t dreaming.

Brian just wasn’t used to getting everything he’d ever wanted all in one fell swoop and needed the reassurance of a neutral third party to make sure it was all real.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

When Jennifer walked in to visit her son that afternoon, she was surprised to enter upon gales of joyous laughter from both her son and his partner. Seeing Brian laughing unrestrainedly was such a refreshing sight she couldn’t suppress her own glowing smile. She quickly moved to bus Justin lightly on the cheek and then sat down in the visitors’ chair nearby and demanded to know what was making everyone so happy.

“Doc, would you do the honors, with full medical gobbledy-gook, please,” Brian said as he grinned at his pseudo-mother-in-law.

Justin’s neurologist, who had been standing out of sight in the far corner of the room next to a wall mounted light box, waved hello to Ms. Taylor and started right in on a full explanation of Justin’s condition complete with indecipherable medical jargon while pointing repeatedly at two x-ray type films mounted on the light box. Brian and Justin sat together quietly on the bed, grinning like lunatics, holding hands and occasionally bending inwards so that one could leave another kiss somewhere on the other’s body. Jennifer was clearly confused. When the doctor ended his spiel, Justin piped up to help interpret the happy diagnosis for his mother.

“Hobbs cured me!” Justin asserted, further confusing his mother, but pressing on with his own interpretation of the diagnosis. “See the picture on the left - that was from after Prom - that fuzzy grey area in the frontal cortex is all scarring. According to the doctor here, that scarring was what was blocking my memories and causing the ongoing motor-activity problems with my right hand. And, see the picture on the left - that’s today! See how there’s less grey? When Hobbs attacked me this time and I hit my head, it reinjured almost the same place. Only, this time, the injury healed with substantially less scarring. There’s still a little swelling, or so the doc says, and that means that he still won’t give me a final diagnosis, but it seems like my neurons have re-routed themselves this time around and are regenerating the synapses with less scarring and therefore less blockage.”

“That sounds good, Justin,” Jennifer replied cautiously. “But, what exactly does it mean?”

Justin beamed another elated smile at his lover and then answered his mother. “I can remember everything and my hand is better, Mom. My hand is BETTER!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short epilogue still to post - that last chapter was getting too long so I split it up a bit. I still have a couple of loose ends to wind up and, of course, have to add in some smut since this story was woefully heavy on plot and short on PWP - my apologies! Hope you're all enjoying the joy! Thanks so much for reading and for all your wonderful, inspiring reviews. TAG


	20. The Epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the happy, fairy-tale ending (a.k.a soppy, romantic drivel). I hope you enjoyed this, even though you had to read too much about Hobbs. That's the way the story decided to tell itself. Enjoy! TAG
> 
> ***** Chapter Dedicated to my loyal reader, Lisa, who left me sweet comments on every single chapter of this story. Thank you! *****

Epilogue: (Three Months later)

On the wall outside the entrance to Babylon, there’s a small brickwork nook that’s been glassed over and which now contains a memorial to the bombing and those who lost their lives that night because of Hobbs. There are pictures of each of the victims with stories about their lives, framed newspaper clippings detailing the events of that night, and a plaque. There are even some small mementos such as a portion of a burned wooden ceiling beam, a copy of the ‘Stop Prop 14’ Invitation flyer - this one autographed by Cyndi Lauper - some water damaged party favors and even the one bottle of Jack Daniels that somehow survived the explosion intact which Brian had found the next morning.

The line of people waiting to get inside snakes along the side of the building and right past this desolate memorial. The club goers all stop and read the plaque and the stories as they pass by, some of them with tears in their eyes when they remember friends they might have lost. However, rather than being depressing, this little tribute seems to inspire the members of the Liberty Avenue community that pass by. There are definitely more sad but determined smiles that result from the display, than there are tears. And, overall, the memorial doesn’t overshadow the festive mood of the people waiting to enter the club.

Because tonight is definitely a night for celebration, not sorrow. The whole community has come out this evening to the Grand Reopening of Babylon to prove to all the haters and fear-mongers and confused closet-cases out there that nothing can keep them down permanently. Instead of hiding in fear, Liberty Avenue is mourning its losses by holding the biggest wake the world has ever seen. The music flowing out through the open doors and down the street is loud, upbeat and joyful and the people are as well. Nothing can stop the thumpa, thumpa.

Inside, dancing on a raised platform at the very center of the throng of people, are the two men who arguably have the most to celebrate this glorious evening: Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor.

In spite of everything that the world has put them through these past few years, Brian and Justin had survived and they were still together. Christopher Hobbs’ grudge couldn’t tear them apart, a bat to the head couldn’t stop Justin from pursuing his art and not even guns or kidnappings could destroy their love. Now they were back at the place where it all started.

As the strobe lights flashed and changed colors, the pink and then blue hues tinged Justin’s pale skin. There was glitter fluttering down from on high which occasionally caught in the longish blond locks causing them to sparkle. But neither the glitter nor the lights could compete with the beautiful glow that came from within the young man. The sultry smile full of happiness and passion that lit up his face and reflected back from the countenance of the taller man who he was dancing with caused everyone around them to smile as well. The pair of stunning men was radiant and all eyes were drawn to them.

As the deafening music blared around them, they swayed gracefully to their own not-quite-so-fast beat. Justin’s arms were stretched out, resting on the taller man’s shoulders as Brian’s hands circled around gripping his partner’s slim hips and guiding their movements. Their bodies twined around each other, hips grinding together, hands always moving, always touching, trying to find contact with each other’s sweaty skin. Every few minutes one would lean forward slightly and the other would be magnetically drawn forward until their lips were touching, tasting and exploring.

Justin had so far restrained himself from asking about the larger than usual bulge in Brian’s jeans. They’d been dancing for going on an hour now and every time they had rubbed against each other Justin had felt the hard, small, square object in Brian’s front pocket. It was driving him crazy. He could tell that Brian was egging him on, deliberately sliding his right leg between Justins’ and purposely stroking his groin with the mystery object. It was as if the older man was daring him to ask about it, and Justin started out determined to resist the blatant attempt to lure him in with such an alluring riddle. However, after forty-five minutes of constantly being baited with the small enigma, the blond was starting to cave into his curiosity.

“So, Mr. Kinney. . . Is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me,” Justin finally gave in and tried the classic Mae West quote.

Brian broke out into peals of unselfconscious laughter, thrilled to have won this little game of wills. He shyly rolled his lips in, trying in vain to hide a huge grin, as he dug into the tight jeans and pulled out the mystery box. Hiding it in his hand until the last moment, he finally turned his palm up, opening his hand to reveal a compact velvet covered box with a hinged lid.

Justin immediately froze in place, in complete disregard of the ongoing music and the crowds of people surrounding them. Brian was staring intently into Justin’s bright blue eyes as he steadily opened the box lid exposing the two gleaming platinum wedding bands inside. Justin’s expression instantly turned from shock to glee as he laid his hand over the top of the box, clasping the object between his palm and Brian’s, then looking up with delight to meet his lover’s gaze.

Brian pulled the other man towards him with his free arm and pressed their bodies together, keeping the ring box and their clasped hands trapped between them.

“So, what brought this on?” Justin said when he finally managed to speak again.

“Well, it was either this or having a GPS chip permanently implanted in your hide,” Brian shouted back over the pounding music, his voice suffused with amusement and love. “It was the only other thing I could think of to keep you in line and out of trouble.”

Justin merely wrinkled his nose up at this wry bit of humor and then reached up on his toes to kiss his partner.

Brian was taking that as a solid and resounding ‘Yes’!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I managed to write a story that doesn't require an 'explicit - NC17' warning. Sorry about that! There just wasn't any place to put the smut - I really did try to find a place for it but every time I tried it just seemed out of place - I mean, for most of the story Justin was being held captive far from Brian's lustful advances. So, you end up with an action/adventure story without any overt smut. I promise to do better next story! Hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Thank you to all my readers and especially to everyone who took the time to leave me comments/reviews. See you in my next story! TAG


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